Star Traks: Silverado - Season 5
by Lt. Silverado
Summary: When we last left our...er...intrepid crew, they were trapped in a bunker on a conquered alien planet. Their ship disabled and with enemies all around, the Silverado crew must work with a former enemy to help them regain their history, re-take their planet and kick the crap out of some obnoxious bad-guys that really deserve it.
1. We All Fall Down

With thanks to Killjoy77, for reminding me that there was another season to post.

Are you a Star Trek addict? If so, you probably know that Star Trek was created by Gene Rodennberry and is owned by Paramount.  
If you would like a cure for Trek addiction, I suggest Star Traks. It was created by Alan Decker and is far more humorous, with none of the made-for-network-television side effects.  
Star Traks: Silverado was created by Brendan Shust. Former Trek addict.

Copyright 2008

The following may contain content of a violent, profane or sexual nature. Sort of like real life and the evening news. If your country of origin prevents you from viewing such material, they re probably trying a little too hard to protect you from the world. Still, it s best to follow your local laws. So if they say you can t read this, you better not read it. And they suck for saying so. Otherwise, enjoy the story.

Star Traks: Silverado

5.1 We All Fall Down

Prologue:

Welcome to Matrian Space.  
Centuries ago, the Matrians were a thriving, advanced civilization. With colony worlds both within their own star system and beyond, the Matrians existed peacefully with most of their neighbours, trading goods, technology and knowledge. Matrian women, though renowned for their beauty, were also known for their hard-edge bargaining skills, aggressive negotiation tactics and obsession with all things sports-related.  
The men, on the other hand, were renowned for being dull-witted pretty-boys.  
And while they had successfully evolved as a race, the women were getting sick of it. And so, using genetic engineering traded from one of their neighbours, they upgraded their men; giving them the intelligence, the skill and the aggression that they themselves possessed. This was not a Good Idea.  
Within a generation, tensions in the Matrian Empire had reached extremes never before experienced in their history, with men demanding a larger share in government, business and the Matrian Defence Fleet. The women, suddenly finding themselves with new competition, resisted strongly. This stalemate held for years, until a group of radical men destroyed the city of Matronus, a vast orbital habitat that served as the capitol of the Matrian Empire.  
The destruction of Matronus was the spark that ignited total civil war, a war that would last for nearly a century, devastating both sides. And, of course, with males and females too busy making war to make children (sucks to be them!), the population of the Empire began to plummet, despite measures taken by both sides to replenish their numbers.  
Finally, a group of female scientists completed their ultimate weapon: the Matrian Spatial Interphase Device. Capable of causing drastic (though temporary) personality changes, the M-SIDs ended the war within a day.  
But with their civilization all but destroyed, the victorious women realized that not only had the pride and stubbornness of their ancestors cost them nearly everything, life in the ruins of the Matrian Empire was going to be hard, brutally so.  
And so they created a vast artificial reality, code-named Dreamland, where they could wait, their bodies resting in suspended animation. The males, as punishment for their crimes, were sentenced to hard labour, as much as was necessary to restore their devastated planet. Once the women emerged from hibernation they would join the men and together they would give rise to a new age, an age of a restored Matrian Empire, with peace and equality for all.  
Of course, somebody fucked it up.  
A young Mistress named Laurette, still bitter from the war, managed to convince the Council of Governors that the men could never be trusted. And that instead of peaceful co-existence, they should focus on creating a vast army of male slaves with which to begin a war of conquest that would firmly plant Matria Prime in a position of power over the neighbouring star systems.  
This didn't work so well either.  
Encountering a vast alliance of planets far from their home territory, the Matrians thought they had located the perfect man: a man who had a complete and utter adoration of women, a man who could be controlled and manipulated, to serve as the velvet glove for the iron fist they would use to squeeze the resistance out of male-kind.  
What they didn't realize was that when you mess with the Federation, you're usually making a mistake.  
The next thing you know, the Federation Starship Silverado came onto the scene, trashing Laurette's plan for domination and re-awakening the women of Matria Prime.  
With the collapse of the M-SID network, the newly awakened women came to learn two things: One: their original plan of peaceful co-existence was a better one. Two: Centuries of war and suspended animation had all but erased any memory of the Old Matrian Empire. Nobody alive had lived in that time, and Laurette's reign in Dreamland had resulted in twisted recollections, altered computer records and general over-all confusion.  
Two years after the re-awakening, the Matrians found themselves again dealing with the U.S.S. Silverado, on the eve of their entry into the Federation. And, as one can expect, all hell promptly broke loose.  
This time however, the Matrians and the Federation found themselves allied against the threat of the Qu-Eh, a race bent on invading and conquering the new Matrian Republic. But with reinforcements so far away, Matria Prime quickly fell to the enemy.  
But as both the Matrians and the Silverado crew were to find, every government loves a good secret, and the best-kept secrets are usually the ones that can have the largest impacts.

Matria Prime, Installation 317, One week after the Qu-Eh invasion:

Christopher Stafford pulled himself out of bed and groaned, trying to stretch the kinks out of his lanky frame. He looked at his reflection in the gleaming metal panel that was currently serving as a mirror, noticing that his stomach was flatter than it had been in years.  
"Nothing like a week of field rations to help you lose weight," he mumbled, fishing around for his uniform and wrinkling his nose in disgust upon finding it.  
"Huh?" his neighbour grumbled.  
"Nothing, Jeffery," Stafford mumbled, fishing around for a can of deodorant and proceeding to empty half the can into his wadded up uniform jacket.  
They'd been living in the abandoned underground installation for a week now, and they still hadn't figured out how to open the damned doors in the place. In fact, the entire installation had been put into a state of lock-down prior to being abandoned, sealing off the vast majority of the facility, shutting down most of the computer systems and severely limiting access to pretty much everything. As a result, the two or so thousand Starfleet personnel, Matrian civilians and Matrian government personnel who had been evacuated there were living out in the open areas of the massive facility. Jeffery's cot, rather than being in a separate room, in a separate set of quarters on a separate deck, was about two feet from Stafford's. And Jeffery snored. A lot.  
The Matrians had claimed one of the buried, underground hangers, believing that remaining in the single hanger still open to the outside world was a bad idea. (And honestly, that's only common sense, right?) The Starfleet personnel had claimed the huge transit hub in the center of the facility, setting up their cots and stacking their small mountain of ration packs on empty tram platforms, in stairways and next to what could be information booths or security checkpoints.  
From what they could tell, the installation seemed to consist of an outer ring, which contained hanger bays, transit stations and miles upon miles of corridors. (They assumed it contained other things as well, but since the doors were sealed, they didn't really know what, yet.) At the various transit stations they could board trams, which would presumably take them anywhere in the installation. Unfortunately, with the lockdown, the only destinations that seemed to work were the hanger that was open to the surface and the transit hub in what Fifebee believed was the center of the facility. Six pairs of tram platforms lined the other wall of the hub, each with curving, windowed booths guarding the platform exits. Just past these booths was a strangely fancy staircase with twin corridors leading into a maze of hallways and rooms surrounding the hub. The first two levels contained broad, double-sized blast doors that sealed off…something. The third connected to a crossover bridge that gave access to the inner platforms of the hub, even more corridors and locked rooms and even turbolifts that could access the installations command center.  
So for days, Jeffery, Fifebee and Valtaic had spent their time trying to break into the installations computer systems while Stafford, Queen Anselia and Yanick tried to get everybody settled in. So far, the Matrians were too shell-shocked to put up much resistance, and the Starfleet personnel had been trained for survival situations.  
But they knew that the relative peace couldn't last.

"Hey. What's new?" Stafford asked dully as Jeffery joined him for breakfast. The two of them were sitting on empty cargo containers, using a larger container as a table. They'd found a suitable corner in which to setup a sort of makeshift mess hall.  
"Valtaic wants to start cutting through doors," Jeffery shrugged, "And Fifebee's convinced that what we're doing is completely useless and that her time would be better spent trying to make these bloody ration-packs taste better. Oh, and Ah'm gonna try to extract Sylvia tomorrow," He emphasized his point by tearing open one corner of his "Western Rokeg Omlette", taking a bite and turning a sickening shade of green.  
"Ah don't think Ah can eat this shit," he gasped, trying to force himself to swallow.  
"Meh," Stafford grunted, looking down at his own "Targ Sausage with Hashbrowns," packet and trying not to gag, "I guess outsourcing our survival rations to a Klingon company wasn't the smartest thing Starfleet's ever done,"  
"Ye should come up to the command center today," Jeffery went on, "Ah mean, Anselia's up there almost every day, and ye never know, we might actually find something today,"  
"Meh," Stafford shrugged.  
Jeffery spit his mouthful of omelette back into the package and fished around in the ration bag for something more palatable. Stafford was obviously still wallowing in self-pity over the whole Qu'Eh invasion, but frankly, Jeffery really didn't feel like investing any more time in dragging the guy out of his funk. He had too much work to do.  
"Screw breakfast," Jeffery grumbled, tossing his ration pack into an empty cargo container that was now serving as a trash can, "And if ye can't pull yerself out of this rut, then screw ye too!"  
With that, he stalked away.  
"Huh?" Stafford looked up. Seeing that Jeffery was gone, he went back to his disgusting breakfast.

Up in the command center, Fifebee and Valtaic weren't doing much better.  
"I recall," Valtaic was saying, "That during my computer security training, there was a technique for bypassing lockouts that involved a sort of fractal decryption sequence. If we could program an engineering tricorder to-"  
"Nope, won't work," Fifebee said, cutting him off.  
"Why not?"  
"Because Riven, and I'm getting tired of repeating this, sweetie," Fifebee said, putting her hands on her hips, "Any kind of decryption program we could run would require an input of some kind! And we have found no functional input ports, command lines pathways or even a USB port! It's useless!"  
"I do not agree!" Valtaic said, his energy field coming to life momentarily before he could reign in his impulses.  
"And stop doing that! You know it messes up my holo-relay, and my program is already unstable enough!"  
Fifebee had unknowingly been playing host to Sylvia's personality ever since an Old Matrian computer virus had sent her into a cybernetic coma and destroyed Silverado's warp core. Sylvia had taken refuge in her personality database, but it had taken some time for her crewmates to realize what had happened. Now Jeffery was insisting that she try to bring Sylvia's personality to the surface, as much as possible, so it could be successfully extracted. The result was that Fifebee's own personality was conflicting with Sylvia's, leaving her in a somewhat confused (and annoying) state.  
"Could you not try altering the hardware pathways?" Valtaic asked again.  
"No, without prior knowledge of the cream cheese pathways, the smoked salmon would be completely useless,"  
Fifebee blinked, mentally reviewing what she'd just said.  
"Sylvia, stop that! I'm trying to work here, and I can't concentrate if all you can do is worry about recipes!" she snapped.  
"You stop it!" she snapped again, the timbre of her voice changing slightly, "Just because WE don't eat doesn't mean we don't have to worry about food!"  
"Shut up!"  
"No, YOU shut up!"  
Watching the holographic officer argue with herself, Valtaic became even more convinced that their chances of accomplishing anything prior to Sylvia and Fifebee's separation would be negligible.  
"Ladies," he said, "You are annoying me, and we have work to do,"  
"F**k you!"  
Valtaic looked at Fifebee calmly.  
"And which of you said that?" he asked calmly.  
"She did!" Fifebee snapped, her voice taking on a weird, stereo-like quality.  
"By the Great Firefly," Valtaic groaned, leaning against a panel.

Elsewhere in the installation, T'Parief was returning to the Matrian camp.  
"Hi!" Yanick said happily, running up and giving him a big hug, "I'm glad to see you!"  
"Are you?" he asked.  
"Well, you sorta stink right now. And everybody's grumpy. And this place sucks," Yanick went on, "But yeah, I'm happy to see you,"  
"Good, then," T'Parief nodded.  
"So, what's up?" Yanick asked.  
I have come to inform Queen Anselia that we must begin cutting doors open, even if she does not want to damage this facility," T'Parief said, "I have been exploring for the past week, and aside from hanger bays, transit stations and corridors, I have found nothing but doors! DOORS!" he roared, "Big doors, little doors, round doors, cargo doors, one that may even be a doggy-door. BUT NONE OF THEM WILL OPEN!"  
"Are you happy to see me?" Yanick asked suddenly.  
"We have attempted to override them, but there is no power to the door circuits. We have attempted to force them open, but they seem to have mechanical locking systems to prevent that. THE CUTTING MUST BEGIN!"  
"In other words, NO," Yanick cried out, "You're so obsessed with this place that you're not even listening to me!"  
With that, she spun on her heel and stalked off.  
T'Parief stood there for a moment.  
"What?" he grumbled.  
Noticing that the nearby Matrians were starting to stare, he realized that he either had to follow her and continue this discussion or find Anselia and get to work.  
Perhaps, he decided, by ignoring her outburst he would be signalling Trish that her concerns were needless and not even worth considering. Yeah, that would be the way to go.  
Looking around, he attempted to locate Anselia.

Stafford sat in the small information booth/security checkpoint/frozen beverage stand/whatever that he'd commandeered as an office. The door wouldn't shut (oh the irony), the computer terminal was powerless and he had no real paperwork to speak of, just a padd on which he'd been taking a few notes about their situation. Somebody had left him a note with directions to a newly located lavatory. He knew they were in dire straights as far as facilities went (the Mr. Sani units would only last so long) but this one looked like at least a 15 minute walk. Around the corner from his little booth were rows of empty cots setup against the platform walls, stacks of cargo containers beamed down from Silverado before the final battle and a few pathetic attempts to make the place seem a bit more…homey. Yanick had a stuffed horse standing guard over her empty cot. T'Parief had, in a move that Stafford considered a disaster waiting to happen, hung his razor-sharp Parileth over his. Steven had pulled his Chris Richards warp-field print off the wall of Unbalanced Equations on his way out, and the tattered artwork was now flapping limply in the breeze in an empty space just over the crossover bridge that was now laughing called the lounge.  
He watched as crewmembers moved around, some on tasks and errands, but most simply…waiting. Over six hundred officers, crew members and civilians from Silverado were now living in this central area, with most of them clustered along the edges of the ring-shaped, multi-track tram route. Families were clustered up on some of the balconies they'd found access to, and the overflow spilled out into the maze of corridors beyond the hub.  
This wasn't the first time they'd been separated from their ship. They'd been kidnapped by the Senousians during their first visit to Matrian Space, and had spent over a month wandering around the surface of Delori II believing their ship to be destroyed.  
He lifted his head as the sounds of shouting suddenly broke out. Rushing out of his booth, he moved to investigate.  
"No, you little bastard, this is MY Elaysian cloud-apple pie! Give it back!  
"Hey, I had the 'Gagh Goulash' for lunch, and that's the ONLY ration pack that comes with Elaysian cloud-apple!"  
Taking a right into a main stairway, climbing to the second level, then making a left turn into a smaller (but still wide) pathway, Stafford found the source of the disturbance. Crewmen Gibson and Shwaluk were each clutching one end of a silver ration-packet, presumably containing the infamous pie.  
"Give it to me, you little f**ker!" Shwaluk shouted.  
"No!"  
"What the hell is going on here?" Stafford roared.  
Both men turned to look at him. Gibson at least looked slightly guilty; Shwaluk was just glaring.  
"Uh, we're having a deep, philosophical debate?" Gibson said.  
"Really? Then this has nothing to do with that piece of pie you're both clutching like your lives depend on it?"  
"This?" Shwaluk asked, trying now to look innocent, "Nope, nothing."  
"Good,"  
With that, Stafford snagged the packet, yanked it from their surprised grasps, turned and walked away.  
"Problem solved," he called back over his shoulder.

Walking back out to platform level, he started wondering just what they were doing wrong. They'd managed over a month on Deloria, and they'd been scattered all over the planet's surface. Why were they cracking up now, after barely a week? They had food, water and places to sleep. They were safe from the invading Qu'eh forces and Starfleet reinforcements were on the way.  
So why were they going so bonkers?

"We cannot condone any damage to any Old Matrian relics," Queen Anselia was saying for what felt like the five hundredth time, "We simply cannot risk losing any-"  
"We are living like animals," T'Parief interrupted her, "And while I, personally, prefer it that way, neither your people nor my crewmates agree. And considering the magnitude of what we've found in the few unlocked spaces we've found, we must determine what the Old Matrians were so eager to hide!"  
Anselia took a quick look around, making sure none of her people were in earshot.  
"We have not revealed that discovery to our people," she hissed.  
The discovery she was referring to was the discovery of a room full of Old Matrian men, found in suspended animation in a laboratory several levels above the transit hub. Twelve unaltered men, and one altered. The unaltered Matrians, almost child-like in mentality, were under the careful care of Madame Schoonbaert, Silverado's schoolteacher. The 13th was off somewhere, hiding in the installation. T'Parief had security teams looking for him, but there were a hell of a lot of places for him to hide.  
"We cannot simply sit here, waiting for the Qu'Eh to find us!" T'Parief insisted.  
"Look, Lizard-Man," Anselia shot back, "Under what pretext do you presume to tell us what to do?"  
"As I recall, your people wanted Starfleet Security to play a major role in your own planetary security," T'Parief stated.  
Anselia bit her tongue.  
"We will take this to the Minister of Defence," she decided, "And we will each present our cases."  
"Very well,"  
"Fine!"  
"All right then."  
"OK,"  
They glared at each other for a moment.  
"Uh, do you remember the way to the transit station?" Anselia asked.  
"No," T'Parief said, "But I have a map."  
"Oh, good. Let's go."

"Teriaki the power conduit cheeses," Fifebee said calmly as she and Valtaic exited the turbolift and began navigating towards the hub.  
"You are annoying me greatly," Valtaic observed.  
"Fondu!" Fifebee snapped.  
"You could simply stop speaking until you have this problem figured out," Valtaic suggested.  
Fifebee was silent for a moment.  
"I believe Sylvia's personality subroutines have decided to restrain themselves long enough for me to pass on a message to you," she said.  
"Really? Please, do share it,"  
"Extract the pole from your ass, shut up, and stop pestering us!"  
"I do not believe you have ever been this rude,"  
"You try playing host to an extra identity!"

Stafford stood calmly on a platform edge, looking out at the ring of anti-grav tracks that circled the central column of the hub. Some came in, merging with the rings, other went out, disappearing down under the 'main' level. The tram platforms around the central column were just as crowded as the platforms running along the outer edge. But given the size of the place, it didn't take long to find an empty corner. Walking along the platform, Stafford eased into a smaller stairway and sat down on the top step.  
For the moment at least, he could have a bit of piece and quiet. And a bit of pie.  
He'd barely taken a bite of his stolen desert when more voices broke the air.  
"-going to be down here for a while, so you better drop that lousy attitude and shape up!"  
"My attitude hasn't changed in the slightest. You can hardly say the same,"  
"Flambé the alternate route!"  
He turned to see Valtaic and Fifebee approaching.  
"Ah, Chris," Fifebee said, "We need you to sauté a dispute. Sylvia, quit it! Just settle down and let me work!"  
"I thought she wasn't actually in there," Stafford said dryly, pointing at Fifebee's head.  
"She isn't. But she has very…aggressive personality routines!"  
"Oh,"  
"Captain, we are unlikely to make any progress in the command center. We need to begin breaking through doors. Perhaps we can find a computer core, or an engineering space that has the access we require."  
"You mean the 'on' switch?" Stafford mused.  
"Yes,"  
"We need to convince the Queen," Stafford said, "She's kinda touchy about this place,"  
"Perhaps," Fifebee started to suggest, "we could-"  
She was interrupted as, with a whoosh of air, a small tram shot out from one of the large tunnels leading to the outer facility, merged deftly onto the central ring of track and slowed to a halt nearby. T'Parief and Anselia emerged.  
After listening to T'Parief and Anselia present their cases, Stafford shrugged.  
"Are we really in a hurry?" he asked, "I mean, more ships are coming-"  
"That is no excuse to sit on our grorts and do nothing!" T'Parief said sharply.  
"I agree," Valtaic said.  
"They have a point," Stafford shrugged.  
"We cannot damage this facility!" Anselia insisted, "A damaged data core, a power line or data connection severed at the wrong moment, and we could lose valuable information about our people!"  
Fifebee was staring at the tram.  
"I may have an icing…cream puff…IDEA!" she said.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Anselia asked.  
"You could have stayed at the Starfleet camp," Fifebee reminded her.  
"She's a hands-on kind of leader," Stafford said, giving her a weak grin.  
"Ah yes," Valtaic said, "I had forgotten that the two of you are involved in a sexual relationship. How exactly have you managed to overcome the hygiene limitations of our current predicament?"  
Stafford and Anselia blushed. Fifebee vomited. Holographic vomit, yes, but you get the point.  
They were walking along the track that led into the tunnel that the tram had just come through. They were fairly sure that there was enough clearance on the side to keep them from being squished should another tram come by, but none of them really wanted to put that to the test.  
"We should be almost there," Fifebee said. Between the four of them, they had exactly one, tiny flashlight. For some reason, the supplies they'd beamed down before occupying the facility had been seriously lacking in flashlights.  
The first time they'd used the tram, Fifebee, T'Parief, Valtaic and Jeffery had determined that the track exited the outer rim of the structure, traversed a wide, empty space, then re-entered some sort of central structure, one that towered to the very top of the vast mountain under which the facility was buried. Over the past week, the Silverado crew had found a total of six tracks, each leading from the outer edge inward, like spokes on a wheel. Exactly what was in the massive cavern they traversed was yet another mystery. One that Fifebee hoped to solve.  
They became aware of a soft humming in the air.  
"A force field," Valtaic pointed.  
Indeed, they'd found a faint, greenish field stretching across the tunnel. Beyond it, the track stretched on while the side walls and ceiling vanished.  
Valtaic tentatively reached out a hand. It passed through without resistance.  
"Atmospheric containment field," he said.  
"Why?" Anselia wondered.  
Stafford had leaned through the field, trying to look down beside the track. All he could see was a sheer drop. Suddenly, he started gasping, bringing one hand to his mouth before pulling his head back behind the field.  
"I don't think there's any oxygen over there!" he gasped.  
Fifebee pulled out her tricorder. The device was largely useless inside the jamming field that hid the facility, but it did work within a radius of a few feet.  
"Nitrogen," she said, "Luckily, nothing dangerous. Otherwise, you would be dead now." Her features shimmered for a moment, her hair lightening and her eyes growing softer. When she spoke, her voice was eerily Sylvia-lie.  
"And really, Chris, we have safety precautions for a reason!"  
"Oops," Stafford said softly.  
As quickly as they'd appeared, the vestiges of Sylvia vanished.  
"I, however, can explore without fear of harm, provided I stay within range of my relay," Fifebee said, her voice crisp, "Excuse me,"  
And with that, she stepped outside the field and stepped off the edge of the track, falling immediately out of sight.

While they waited for Fifebee to finish wandering around outside, Stafford, Anselia and T'Parief took the turbolift up to the command center.  
Stafford and Anselia had been shocked the first time they'd seen the curved, pod-shaped command complex. The multi-levelled design with the central holographic command table, surrounded by a ring of outward-facing workstations was almost identical to the layout of the War Room deep underneath the Matrian Defence HQ building. At the lowest level, a thick turbolift column emerged from the deck with three equally spaced turbolifts opening out onto a ring-shaped walkway. Massive windows curved outward, looking out into the blackness of the cavern. Three evenly spaced, curved stairways led up to the second level and another ring-shaped walkway that circled the outer edge of the complex. Dark display screens covered the walls, and Fifebee believed that there may even be additional doors hidden in that blank surface, though she didn't know where they might lead. Finally, three more curved stairways led to the central command area, a circular platform perched atop the turbolift column. The central holo-table was showing an image of Matria Prime, along with tiny icons representing the occupying Qu'Eh fleet. Overhead, another set of curved windows was covered by either rock or sand. According to Valtaic, this was a strong indication that the installation wasn't originally entirely underground, although Jeffery had already figured that out from the buried hanger bays.  
"I absolutely hate this place," Stafford said, gripping the handrail as he climbed the steps to the third level, trying not to look down at the two-level drop that would see him either splattering against one of the lower windows or worse; smashing through the window and falling dozens of levels to the cavern floor.  
"We love it," Anselia said, not showing the slightest hint of discomfort, "It's…familiar. Yet mysterious,"  
"Uh huh," As quickly as he could, Stafford scurried up onto the command deck and moved as far away from the edge as he could.  
"Ye came!" Jeffery said, surprised. The engineer was underneath one of the consoles, electronic bits and pieces scattered all around him. He reached one hand into the panel, "I'm just about to try somethin' here!"  
"You aren't damaging anything, are you?" Anselia asked quickly.  
Jeffery, possibly tired of having had her watching over his shoulder for at least 4 hours a day all week, shot a glare in her direction.  
"Ah pulled it apart, Ah can put it back together!" he said, defensively.  
"Just like the force-field concealing the inner facility?"  
"Ah was being shot at!"  
"Jeffery, we just sent Fifebee outside one of the transit tunnels for a look around," Stafford said. He was choosing to ignore Jeffery's earlier comment, in the hopes of avoiding any more conflict that day.  
"Huh? Oh. Whot did she find?"  
"We don't know yet, we just sent her," T'Parief rumbled, "May I start cutting down doors now?"  
"No!" Anselia exclaimed.  
"Yes!" Jeffery suggested, still manipulating the console innards.  
Stafford looked uneasily back at T'Parief and Anselia as the two stared at him.  
"Ah got it!" Jeffery cried. With a soft hum, the console he was working on hummed to life.  
"Oh, Ah am good!" he said, climbing to his feet. He started tapping at the console, resulting in a series of flat-sounding tones.  
"Uh," he frowned.  
"What?" Stafford and Anselia demanded.  
"It's locked," Jeffery said, "None of the controls are working, and the displays all say 'This facility has been locked and can only be unlocked by an administrator'."  
There was an explosion of sparks from underneath the console, then it went dead.  
"You imbecile!" Anselia snapped.  
"Oops," Stafford sighed.  
"That's it, Ah give up!" Jeffery said, throwing his hands up in the air, "We'd have better luck getting under Noel's panties that we're gonna have with this…place…"  
His voice trailed off.  
Stafford, T'Parief and Jeffery exchanged nervous glances. Wowryk, Jall and much of the Beta Shift officers had still been aboard Silverado when the Qu'Eh had disabled her.  
"The Qu'Eh were taking prisoners at the end, Jeffery," Stafford said softly, "She's probably still alive, sitting in a Qu'Eh brig somewhere,"  
"Or being tortured for information," T'Parief mused.  
"Ye son of a-"  
Jeffery leapt at the larger officer, who simply put out one hand and held the shorter man at bay.  
"Jeffery, quit it. T'Parief, none of that talk!" Stafford said, "I'm sure she and Jall are…fine."  
"Tell HIM that!" Jeffery snapped.  
"I just did," Stafford said calmly.  
"And say it like you actually CARE about something!"  
Stafford blinked.  
"Jeffery," he said flatly, almost as though he hadn't heard the engineer, "I want you to get ready to extract Sylvia's personality from Fifebee's database."  
"Oh fine, worry about HER!"  
"And T'Parief?" Stafford turned to the reptile, "You may cut open ONE door,

Stafford had returned to the Starfleet Camp to wait for status reports from his people. He really didn't want to be around T'Parief and Anselia, what with the two of them bickering over which door to open and over the risk of damaging whatever it was Anselia was worried about damaging. He definitely didn't want to be around Jeffery. He wasn't sure what the man's problem was this time. They'd come to blows on Deloria II when Jeffery had accused Stafford of doing nothing to lead their survival attempt, but Stafford knew darned well that this time he was planning, leading and doing all that fun stuff.  
Through the transparent window of his booth he could see another tram easing up against the closest platform. The door hissed open and Trish Yanick appeared.  
Stafford groaned. He really didn't want to see her either. He'd assigned her as the Starfleet/Matrian Liaison Officer right before all hell had broken out, mostly because neither he nor Anselia had wanted to deal with the Matrian reporters. Now she was spending most of her time out at the Matrian camp trying to help the disorganized group of civilians manage their situation. If she was here now then there was probably a problem.  
"Hi Chris!" she said, popping her head into his booth.  
"Hi," Stafford said flatly, ignoring the wave of BO emanating from Yanick and hoping she was doing the same for him, "I'd offer you a seat, but I don't think there's room for two people in here," Or enough air, he added silently.  
"Oh, that's fine!" She vanished for a moment, then reappeared with an empty cargo box, which she promptly dropped to the floor with a bang. She sat, then leaned in.  
"So, the Matrians have started playing with some of the ships we found,"  
"Really?" Stafford was surprised. They'd fond a total of 12 hanger bays so far, many containing Old Matrian patrol ships, fighters, scout ships and even a couple of medium-attack ships. Since the doors to all the occupied hangers were buried in sand, nobody had really given the ships a second thought. Until now apparently.  
"Any luck?" he asked.  
"Not really," Yanick shrugged, "They're out of gas. They're trying to get one of them hooked up to the facility power supply. They want a couple of technicians to help them out."  
"Take your pick," Stafford said, gesturing around at the bored-looking crewmen wandering around the camp.  
"Goody!" Yanick clapped, "Pixies, choosies!"  
She ran out of the room.  
Waving his hand in front of his face to clear the scent of their combined BO, Stafford wondered just what the hell that was supposed to mean.

A few hours later…

"Why am I here?" Nurse Kerry asked, standing next to the corridor wall with her arms crossed.  
"Because the last time I tried exploring, I nearly killed myself," Stafford said calmly.  
"Then maybe you should just stay at home?" Kerry suggested.  
"That's what my mom says," Stafford agreed.  
"If you are finished with your debate, I would like to start the destruction now," T'Parief said.  
The three of them, along with Queen Anselia, were gathered around a fairly non-descript door. After much heated debate, Anselia and T'Parief had selected a door to open. Of course, they had to choose one that was about 15 levels above the transit hub, a choice that had left Stafford cursing their names for every minute he'd spent climbing up a stairway they'd found; one that seemed to follow the turbo-shafts leading up to the command complex. So far, each new level that had been explored had yielded nothing but more locked doors. But from the layout of the corridors, they'd been convinced that somewhere between the hub and the command complex, the structure had slimmed down into a tower.  
Anyway, they had picked a door. Now, as T'Parief lowered the cutting phaser towards the door panels Anselia closed her eyes and Stafford crossed his fingers.  
"Stop!"  
Fifebee suddenly fizzled into view, one arm outstretched.  
T'Parief almost cut through the door anyway, but at the last minute decided that maybe listening to the science officer would be a good idea.  
"Yes, Fifebee, what is it?" Stafford sighed.  
"You didn't think that it might be a good idea to wait for my report before you started breaking and entering?" Fifebee demanded.  
"Well…T'Parief really wanted to…" Stafford said, digging one toe into the carpet.  
"Do not blame this on me," T'Parief grumbled.  
"But it was your idea!"  
"We're on an island!" Fifebee interrupted.  
That caught everybody's attention.  
"An ISLAND?" Stafford exclaimed.  
"An island." Fifebee repeated, "A piece of land, surrounded by water,"  
"I KNOW what an ISLAND is!"  
"After I reached ground level, which was a considerable drop, I might add, I found many items of interest. First, as I mentioned, this central complex is on an island," Fifebee explained, "There is a lake of unknown depth surrounding us on all sides. I do not know if it reaches as far as the outer facility, but if they are using it as a security measure against intruders, it seems likely,"  
"Clever," T'Parief nodded, "Infiltration would be more difficult if one had to search for an island in the middle of a pitch-black, underground lake,"  
"And the tram bridges are probably easily defended," Stafford agreed, "What else did you find?"  
"We are currently located in a six-sided structure, which appears to cover the majority of the island. I do not know the shape of the structure aside from this, but given that the command complex appears to be located at its peak, I assume it is a tapered tower of some form." Fifebee answered. Evidently, Sylvia's personality subroutines were finding this topic too dull to be worth interrupting, "I also found several other structures of varying shapes and sizes located between this one and the lakeshore. They were locked, similar to this one. I suspect that they are linked to this structure, probably through an underground connection on a level below that of the transit hub,"  
"Underground links…in a facility that's already underground," Anselia mused, "What were our ancestors building down here?"  
"In any event, we're not exploring that lake," Stafford decided, "We're just going to have to focus on this island and the outer ring…"  
"Then let us begin!" T'Parief said, raising the phaser torch again.  
Fifebee looked at him in annoyance, shimmered for a moment, then stepped through the door, her tricorder clattering to the deck..  
Stafford's eyebrows lifted, Anselia gasped in surprise and Nurse Kerry yawned. T'Parief simply looked disappointed.  
"I'd forgotten she can do that," Stafford said.  
Seconds later, Fifebee re-emerged.  
"It is dark," she said, "But I believe this room is an office-space of some kind. There are workstations, windows, cheesy motivational posters and what I believe is the equivalent of a Matrian coffee-maker.  
"Why the f**k didn't you do that a week ago?" Stafford exclaimed, "Do you know how much trouble you could have saved us?"  
"I was busy," Fifebee said testily, "And I didn't realize it was such a big deal! And if you continue to bother me about it, Christopher Rico Stafford, I assure you I WILL tell the story about you and your jolly-jumper!"  
Stafford paled.  
"I guess she has some of Sylvia's memories, too," he said shakily, "Hey, did the coffee maker have any coffee next to it?"  
"Yes, though it is probably two hundred years old,"  
"T'Parief, take that door down!"  
The reptile grinned as he re-activated the cutting phaser.  
"With pleasure!"

The next morning, with a steaming cup of Matrian coffee helping his breakfast down, Stafford took a moment to thank the Old Matrians for using stasis-bags, like any technologically advanced society. Valtaic had abandoned his work in the command complex and was instead pouring over the scorched and dismantled remains of the office door that T'Parief had phasered in the hopes of finding an easier way to open other doors. Jeffery was working on the small Federation computer core the rebel Matrians had transferred Fifebee to, preparing to extract Sylvia. Assuming all went according to plan, the two AI women could then start identifying which doors needed to be opened.  
"Captain Stafford?"  
Stafford sighed. Of course, he should have known better than to think that he could walk through the camp without somebody wanting his attention for something or other.  
"What?" he asked.  
"Uh," it was Ensign Kennerdy, one of the junior security officers, "I have the security report in from our teams tracking the Naked Ninja, and-"  
"The what?" Stafford interrupted, not stopping his brisk walk towards the turbolift.  
"Uh, the Matrian male who escaped after the stasis pods were accidentally opened," Kennerdy replied.  
"Oh. Why aren't you giving this to T'Parief?"  
"He's overseeing the overall exploration of this…uh, place," Kennerdy said, "He told me to just give this to you,"  
He offered Stafford the padd.  
"I don't want it," Stafford said flatly, "We have too much crap happening right now to worry about one, naked Matrian guy. How much trouble could he cause?"  
"Well, um, Nurse Kerry was worried that without access to supplies, he might starve to death-"  
"Oh, PLEASE!" Stafford exclaimed, "If he's that frickin' hungry, he can turn himself in! Kennerdy, pull your men off that search and re-assign them to T'Parief's search. I'm far more concerned with finding a replicator or a working shower than I am about a single butt-naked Matrian!"  
He stepped into the one functioning turbolift they'd found and hit the button for the laboratory level.  
"Bye," he said.  
Kennerdy just blinked.  
"Uh, OK," he muttered.

Jeffery, Valtaic and Fifebee had setup their portable lab equipment in the large, now-empty genetics lab where they'd found the frozen Matrian men. Jeffery and Fifebee were currently huddled over Sylvia's module and the small Federation computer core the Matrian Rebels had managed to get their hands on. Valtaic had paused in his door analysis to assist them. One of the corner workbenches had bits and pieces of door circuitry scattered across its surface, including a small AI module that was currently chanting 'A door is ajar' in Matrian.  
"Ah really wish we had access to Silverado's computer core," Jeffery was saying.  
"You and me both," Fifebee said, "Did you know that my processing speed has been reduced by over 2 million computations per second on this core? I feel like an organic with brain damage!"  
"And schizophrenia," Valtaic pointed out helpfully.  
"Yes, thank you for reminding me," Fifebee said scornfully.  
"Hmm, you're welcome," Valtaic said thoughtfully, "Clearly, if you'd forgotten, your program is farther degraded than we'd realized."  
"Why you-" Fifebee jumped at him. Jeffery rushed to hold her back, and Valtaic reflexively pulsed his energy field. Fifebee flickered for a moment, and the computer core beeped angrily.  
"Not around the equipment!" Jeffery snapped, moving between Valtaic and the core as if his body could protect it from the alien's energy, "Do ye know what static electricity does to these things?"  
"I do not generate static," Valtaic said disdainfully, "What do you take me for, some primitive form of carpet?"  
At that point, Stafford walked into the lab, the doors hissing shut behind him.  
"Man," he said, looking over his shoulder, "It seems too weird to see a set of doors that actually works. And do I really want to know why you guys are talking about carpet?"  
"We are ready to attempt the transfer," Fifebee said coolly, not answering the question. Jeffery simply shrugged.  
"Ooookay," Stafford said, "Do it,"  
Jeffery looked at the terminal he'd setup on the workbench, attached to the computer core.  
"OK, here it goes," he said. He tapped a button.  
Lines of code streamed over the display as Fifebee began shimmering. Her hair, which was a bizarre blend of Fifebee's black bun and Sylvia's shorter blondish-brown 'do, started writhing, her uniform colours started shifting and her face blurred like melting candle wax.  
"That is thoroughly disgusting," Valtaic declared.  
"Is this going to take long, Jeffery?" Stafford asked, a grimace on his face.  
Before Jeffery could answer, Fifebee suddenly shattered into hundreds of pieces, a blinding light causing everybody to shield their eyes. When they turned back to look, there were two women standing where before there'd only been one.  
"Sylvia!" Stafford exclaimed happily, rushing forward to pull the holographic woman into a hug, "I'm so glad to see you!"  
"Chris!" Sylvia said, looking somewhat surprised, "Hi! I take it the virus was eliminated?"  
Pulling back, Stafford looked around the alien laboratory they were standing in.  
"Uh, not exactly."

While Jeffery, Stafford and Valtaic brought Sylvia up to speed, another pair of eyes was watching.  
Craigan, dressed only in a pair of shorts he'd swiped from the Starfleet camp, had concealed himself in a storage locker at the far side of the lab and was carefully watching the alien invaders through one of the ventilation slits. He'd had no idea what they were doing to begin with, and when one of them had suddenly broken apart, reforming into two women, it was all he could do not to gasp in shock.  
He had no idea how long he'd been in stasis for. For that matter, he had no idea where he was. He was pretty sure he was still in Matrian Space, but the architecture and style of the complex he was in could belong to Matria Prime or any of the Primary Colonies. The lack of engine noise ruled out a ship, and as the one window he'd found so far looked out into pitch blackness, he could only assume he was underground.  
But whomever had captured him had taken his equipment, his cloths, everything. Without them, it was almost impossible for him to complete his mission.  
He had to re-connect with the Male Rebellion.  
But first, he had to get out of this place. That would require a weapon. And leverage.  
He watched as the aliens conversed, trying to learn something about the current situation.

"After that, the computer virus blew up the warp core and we were practically sitting ducks," Stafford was saying, unaware that his Universal Translator was translating for an extra set of ears.  
"Oh, I really thought the firewall I'd built around the warp core control systems was strong enough hold off that thing," Sylvia said, crossing her arms, "Hey, does anybody want a Mocha? I bet Jall does, if I can find him!"  
"Jall…" Stafford trailed off, not entirely sure what to say.  
"Jall, Wowryk and several other crewmembers were aboard Silverado when it was captured by the Qu'Eh," Valtaic said bluntly.  
Sylvia brought a hand to her mouth.  
"What have we told ye about saying things like that," Jeffery said, turning to face Valtaic.  
"With the amount of time you people waste on pointless dialogue and exposition, I have decided that you need somebody capable of stating the obvious,"  
"Not when ye make people CRY!"  
"Oh, Jeffery, cut it out," Sylvia said, composing herself.  
The doors hissed open and T'Parief and Yanick stepped into the room.  
"Yes, I heard you when you said I wasn't listening to you," T'Parief was saying.  
"Then why didn't you SAY SOMETHING?" Yanick snapped.  
"I thought that by remaining silent, I would help you to see just how groundless your worries were," T'Parief said indignantly.  
"That is the STUPIDEST THING…Sylvia!"  
Yanick's expression suddenly changed. She ran up to the holographic woman and gave her a hug, "You're OK!"  
"I am, sweetie," Sylvia said happily, "Are you?"  
"Oh," Yanick flushed red, suddenly realizing that her little squabble had had an audience, "We're, um, that is…"  
Jeffery and Stafford slowly started edging their way towards the door. Valtaic simply looked on with undisguised interest.  
"Everybody has rough patches, right?" Yanick said finally, with a sort of hopefully smile.  
"Sounds like somebody needs a vacation," Sylvia declared.  
Yanick's face suddenly lit, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.  
"That's perfect!" she said turning to T'Parief, "That's just what we need! A couple of days with just the two of us! No distractions, no stress, just some quality time!"  
T'Parief suddenly looked very, very, VERY uncomfortable.  
"Uh, I sort of need T'Parief here," Stafford said, trying to get his security chief out of his current fix.  
"Oh, to do what? Walk around looking at locked doors all day? Besides, I thought you were gonna get Fifebee to do that now, since she can just pull a Casper,"  
"But-"  
"No, Chris, this is something we have to do," Yanick said sharply, getting right into Stafford's face, "We need to straighten this out before it gets totally twisted! And if you had a woman instead of that overbearing slave-driver that uses you as a sex toy, maybe you'd understand that a bit better!"  
She and Stafford stared at each other for a moment.  
"Oh, FINE!" Stafford said, throwing his hands up in the air, "What do I care? We're going to be stuck here for weeks anyway, so why not!"  
"Good," Yanick said, smiling. Behind her, T'Parief deflated.  
"And on what sandy beach will you be frolicking?" Valtaic inquired.  
"I don't know," Yanick said, "Someplace where there's nobody else around,"  
She took T'Parief by the hand and dragged him out the door.  
"So," Stafford turned to Sylvia," How do you feel about liaisoning with the Matrians?"  
"I think you really need to learn how to stand up to women, Chris," Sylvia said, grinning, "And I don't remember hearing about you having any kind of female slave-driver...  
"I can stand up to women just fine!" Stafford snapped, indignantly, "And it's nobody's business but mine!"  
The doors hissed open again as Queen Anselia marched through.  
"THERE you are!" she declared, "Did you know that we had two births and a major disagreement on water rationing at the Matrian camp today? We are stressed!"  
"'We' the royal you 'we', or 'we' all of the Matrians 'we'?" Valtaic asked curiously.  
"Both!" Anselia snapped. She turned her attention back to Stafford.  
"Come," she said, grabbing him by the arm, "We are libidinous!"  
"But…I haven't showered in over a week!" Stafford objected as he was pulled towards the door.  
"We don't care!" Anselia said.  
"BUT NEIHER HAVE YOUUUUUUUUU!" Stafford whined as he was hauled into the corridor.  
The doors hissed shut.  
"I do hope she was talking about herself and not all of the Matrians that time," Valtaic observed while Sylvia broke into giggles.  
"C'mon," Jeffery said, shaking his head in disgust, "We have work to do."  
As the aliens filed out, Craigan narrowed his eyes. He hadn't gained much information, aside that there were apparently Matrian Women living here, along with these aliens, and that they appeared to be allies. Were these aliens helping the women fight off the Male Rebellion?  
Or, had the rebellion succeeded, leaving these women as refugees with these aliens?  
As for the leverage he needed, that blond girl would do nicely. Very nicely.

End

Next: Jall, Wowryk and the Beta Shift officers find themselves captured and in the hands of the enemy. But what do the Qu'Eh have in store for them? Pain? Agony? Or torture of a totally different kind?


	2. In the Hands of Middle Management

Star Traks: Silverado

5.2 - In the Hands of the Middle Management

The Invasion of Matria Prime – Day 0

"Intruder alert!" Bith shouted, "I have multiple beam-ins on all decks!"  
"I'm picking up thousands of life-signs on those transports!" Quintaine shouted, taking a moment to punch out the Qu'Eh next to him, "There's no way we can repel them all!"  
"Computer!" Jall called, "Initiate auto-destruct sequence, authorization Jall 764-Photo-Umbrella! 5 minutes, silent countdown!"  
He looked around the bridge for a moment.  
"Sorry folks," he shrugged.  
"Auto-destruct systems are offline," the computer reported.  
"Uh-oh," Jall muttered.  
"We can't let the Qu'Eh have this ship in working order," Day said, sounding almost thoughtful.  
He and Jall stared at each other for a moment.  
"Ohhh!" Jall clapped his hands almost giddily before shoving Day away from the operations panel and going to work.  
"I've re-established partial shields over the bridge," Day reported, having moved to the engineering console, "But they're not going to stay up for long!"  
There was a banging sound from the hatch covering the Jefferies tube next to the turbolift. This time, a Qu'Eh boarding party was trying to force its way onto the bridge. The banging abruptly stopped, then there was the sound of weapons fire.  
There was a crash as the Jefferies tube hatch exploded out into the bridge.  
"Hold your fire," Jall ordered. In the background, a low hum was slowly beginning to rise. The Qu'Eh troops pushed their way onto the bridge, their weapons pointed at the Starfleet officers. Jall slowly raised his hands, nodding at the others to follow suit. One of the Qu'Eh muttered something into a communications device. In the background the low hum was growing in both pitch and intensity. Jall was silently counting the time in his head.  
A moment later, a single Qu'Eh climbed out of the Jefferies tube and onto the bridge. He was roughly humanoid but most of his features were obscured by the body armour and helmet he wore. He stepped out of the turbolift alcove and onto the bridge proper, looking around at the flickering panels, the shattered display at the back of the bridge and at the Starfleet officers standing next to their stations, hands raised. With a flourish he pulled off his helmet, revealing a pale, humanoid face. His hair was grey and was pulled back from a sharp widow's peak. His right ear was a strange twist of cartilage, almost like a starfish doing the hokey-pokey. His left ear was obscured by a strange sort of headset. The earpiece appeared to be fused with his ear, right into the skull. A ridge ran along the left side of his face where the implant ran under his skin, right down to the side of his mouth. Here, a small microphone emerged from a puckered opening in his flesh.  
"I am Manager Kalmers of the Qu'Eh vessel Synergy," he declared.  
Ten seconds, Jall mentally counted. The hum was becoming a squeal.  
"I'm Commander San Jall of the Federation starship Silverado," he said, bracing himself.  
There was a cascade of sparks as the overload building in the ship's impulse reactors was released directly into the ships systems. Sparks flew from the bridge panels, from the lights and even from the main viewscreen. The right wing of the forward helm/ops console exploded completely, singing Jall's uniform.  
All over the ship panels blew out, systems shorted and components melted into slag. In both the primary and secondary computer cores, bank after bank of isolinear chips shattered, processing nodes sparked and bio-neural gel-packs ruptured, the gel boiling as energy surged through it.  
The lights on the bridge failed the sound of the air-circulation systems died and the artificial gravity shut down. Jall found himself drifting, weightless, next to the remains of the helm console. The Qu'Eh commander, his face barely visible in the dim light coming from the small fires burning in the broken panels, was staring at Jall with a combination of fury and shock.  
"Welcome aboard," Jall finished smugly.

A few hours later...

Sitting in the Qu'Eh conference room, still wearing his charred uniform, Commander San Jall had to admit that so far Qu'Eh captivity hadn't been that bad.  
After delivering his witty yet cutting remark to the Qu'Eh commander, Jall had expected to be punched, kicked or at least stunned. Instead, Manager Kalmers had politely invited Jall and the other bridge officers to come with him. Of course, his eye had been twitching at the time, and the starfish-like tendrils of his free ear had been writhing in what really looked like anger, possibly even rage.  
Still, considering that he'd just completely fried every system on the ship, including life-support, and that remaining on board would undoubtedly result in the death of the remaining crew, he'd opted to accept Kalmers' offer.  
The bridge crew, consisting of Jall, Wowryk, Pye, Day, Bith and Quintaine, had been beamed over to one of the Qu'Eh vessels and informed that they had an hour or so to get cleaned up before their meeting. What this meeting was exactly, nobody would tell them. They occasionally saw other Silverado crewmen, captured Matrians and a few captured Senousians being led through the alien vessel, but their captors wouldn't allow them to speak, stating that they all had 'very busy days' ahead of them.  
The ship itself was fairly unremarkable. Jall believed they were on one of the larger Qu'Eh vessels, which really weren't all that large anyway. The corridors were all decorated with beige panels, tan carpeting and, of all things, ugly, fake plastic plants. He didn't know if the Qu'Eh found the colour scheme to be soothing, exciting, or science-fiction-y, but he figured the cast of 'Trading Starships' would probably tell the Qu'Eh they were the biggest piece of office-space trailer-park trash in the quadrant.  
Seated next to him in a comfortable-looking yet very uncomfortable chair, Dr. Noel Wowryk yawned.  
"Don't show them any weakness, dah-ling," Jall said, patting her hand, "Besides, if you start yawning, I'm gonna start yawning, then Pye will start yawning..."  
Wowryk said nothing.  
Wow, Jall mused, she must be exhausted if she isn't even slapping me away.  
"Now now, we can't have any of that!" a voice came, almost song-like, as another Qu'Eh came bouncing into the room. For a moment, Jall was almost reminded of Yanick, except that the Qu'Eh woman had several bumps on her skull, weird starfish-ears and a very large implant fused into one side of her skull.  
"Inter-office romances can be exciting," she said, giving them a grin, "but they cause more problems in the long run!"  
"Dr. Wowryk isn't capable of romance," Jall said flatly, yanking his hand away from hers.  
"And Commander Jall couldn't pleasure a woman if you drew him a labelled diagram!" Wowryk muttered.  
"Oh, I understand," the woman smiled again, "this isn't an office romance...you're married! How sweet that your corporate culture allows such a thing between co-workers!"  
Jall and Wowryk looked at each other and recoiled in horror.  
"He's not-"  
"She's not-"  
"We're not-"  
"Nearly two years now," Lieutenant Bith said calmly, shooting Jall a catty smile.  
The Qu'Eh woman referred to her wrist chrono.  
"Very well, that concludes the Friendly Banter portion of our meeting," she said curtly, her smile vanishing, "Nothing like a good bit of FB to get the day going! Now then, I am Assessor Andrayas and I will be facilitating this session. We have Manager Kalmers joining us via conference link. Good day, Manager,"  
"Assessor," Kalmers had appeared on a large viewscreen and now nodded at Andrayas, "Have you seen-"  
"We've already completed FB, Manager,"  
"Understood," Kalmers said, his voice immediately flattening.  
"Let us proceed," Andrayas said, with the voice of somebody who had done whatever it is she was about to do about a million times.  
"We will be assessing Commander San Jall of Starfleet in his performance during the Merger of Matria Prime. If you would all take out your monitoring forms, we shall begin."  
The Silverado crewmembers looked at each other in confusion, then down at the padds that were laid out in front of them.  
"As prisoners of war," Jall said, standing up, "I demand that my crew and I be treated humanely and with dignity. Anything else will draw grave consequences once Starfleet-"  
"Please spare us stories about your former employer," Andrayas said, "As members of the Qu'Eh organization, you will be treated the same as our other employees. Now, kindly shut up so we can get to work."  
Confused, Jall sat.  
"Normally, we would have a compilation of your own laws and codes of conduct ready to assist us with your evaluation," Andrayas continued, "However, with the destruction of your computer core, this information are not available to us. Fortunately, I have been authorized to give you bonus points under the 'Job Efficiency' category for carrying out such an excellent job in ensuring that your technology didn't fall into our hands!" Andrayas looked almost giddy with excitement, "Now, should we place these under 'Correctly Completed Necessary Assignments', 'Completed Implied Tasks' or 'Additional Performance Expectations'?"  
She looked at them expectantly.  
"Oh my God," Jall whispered, realization hitting home.  
"Yes," Wowryk sighed, "I figured it out a while ago,"  
"They're..."  
"Please don't say it, Commander," Pye pleaded.  
"But..."  
"We should have just blown up the ship and died," Quintaine said, slumping in his chair.  
"They're QUALITY ASSURANCE!" Jall screamed, "ESCAPE ATTEMPT ALPHA! NOW!"  
It took a moment for Bith to realize he was talking to her.  
"Oh, right!" security officer said, pushing her tired body into action, launching herself at Andrayas and knocking the Assessor to the floor. Jall, Wowryk and Quintaine charged the door while Pye and Day started hunting for anything that could be used as a weapon.  
Unfortunately, when the door opened nearly a dozen Qu'Eh soldiers were standing there, weapons aimed.  
"Abort," Jall swallowed.  
"Over 4 of your Earth hours since your capture and this is your first escape attempt?" Andrayas tsk'ed, climbing back to her feet. "Well below average. But," she brightened, "we can discuss that at the Assessment Briefing for your escape attempt. For now, let's watch Manager Kalmers' recording of your capture and discuss Commander Jall's climactic dialogue!"  
"I don't remember being informed that my performance was being recorded for quality assurance or training purposes," Jall grumbled, eyeing the phaser rifle pointed at his head as he returned to his seat.

On the surface of Matria Prime, the Hazardous Team was doing a much better job of blending in.  
Of course, the fact that they'd been rounded up and dumped in a sports arena along with hundreds of Matrian soldiers had helped. The Qu'Eh had captured them, disarmed them, then dumped there here to wait. Ironically, they were in the very sports arena that was supposed to serve as a refuge for Silverado's non-essential crew. Luckily, most of Silverado's crew along with the Matrian government and a smattering of Matrian citizens had been hidden away in some sort of underground Matrian bunker in the middle of some desert somewhere. Stern had originally been annoyed that the co-ordinates of the place hadn't been shared with the HT, but given how events had played out, he conceded that keeping it secret wasn't that bad an idea.  
Come to think of it, Stafford, Jall and the Matrian leadership had had a few too many good ideas in the past week. He wasn't sure about the Matrians, but he was pretty sure that Stafford and Jall had used up their good idea quota for the next 4 months.  
There was a bit of a ruckus from one of the gates that led from the arena proper out into the promenade housing ticket & refreshment sales. Pushing through the crowd, a trio of Qu'Eh soldiers dragged Lieutenant Rengs and Lieutenant Marsden into view.  
"Four escape attempts in four hours," the leader said, "Enough! I understand you want to score well on your assessment, but my troops have better things to do than chase after you!"  
The Qu'Eh turned and left, presumably to resume guarding the exits.  
"That's enough for now, you two," Stern said, wondering what that funny Qu'Eh ear cartilage would feel like on his...never mind. It's Stern, you don't want to know.  
"Any idea what this 'assessment' stuff they keep mentioning is?" Rengs asked.  
"When they attacked, they Qu'Eh said they were here to 'audit the society' and that they would 'assess our quality'." Marsden said, "It almost makes it sound like they want to grade us or something, but that's just silly,"  
"Yeah. More likely it's some funky kind of torture," Simmons said. He turned to Marsden, "How did you remember that anyway?"  
"I'm our hostage negotiator," Marsden said proudly, "I'm supposed to have a good mind for details."  
"Speaking of details," Stern said. He paused, then looked around to ensure they weren't being listened to. Stafford's order for the team to wear Matrian uniforms rather than Starfleet was certainly helping them blend in, even if Kreklor's hat and Dar'Ugals coveralls looked somewhat ridiculous. "Remember that giant underground cavern that's supposed to be under this city? The one the Matrian women used for their hibernation thingy?"  
"Yeah," Marsden said.  
"Not really," Simmons muttered.  
"Do you remember how to get down there?"  
"Oh boy," Marsden bit his lip, trying to think back to the mission reports.  
"Not really, no," he admitted.  
"Well," Stern eyed one of the Qu'Eh guards, "I think it's something we need to figure out.

Qu'eh Invastion +3 Days:

Site Director Laurette of the newly-formed Matrian Outsourced Component of the Qu'Eh Corporate Assessment Authority, formerly Governess Laurette, Leader of the Opposition of the Matrian Republic, formerly Mistress Laurette, Supreme Ruler of the Matrian Dreamland, formerly...formerly...well, she was a bit fuzzy on the details of what she'd been doing prior to entering Dreamland, over a century ago. She was reasonably sure she'd been a member of the all-female Governing Council which had overseen the war against the men. A war that had devastated their world and their population. Laurette was fairly fuzzy on a lot of what had happened in Dreamland over the decades, but she did remember struggling to regain her power. The struggle had clearly been successful, up until her failed bid for galactic power. Why she had lost that power to begin with, she could only guess. She suspected that because she was one of the leaders that had maintained that the men had to be defeated by force (as opposed to negotiated with), she had fallen out of favour with the people after it became apparent that their civilization had become crippled.  
The thought that she could have prevented the whole damned mess by running the war and dealing with the Male Rebellion differently never crossed Laurette's mind. The idea that maybe it was her fault that the Federation had been dragged in to meddle in Matrian affairs likewise didn't occur to her.  
What was running through her head was that for at least the third time, the path of her people was no longer under her control.  
As the Leader of the Opposition in a government led by that soft peace-monger Anselia, Laurette had enjoyed a certain amount of freedom. She'd easily found a group of dissidents and quietly diverted funds in their direction, hoping to eventually start a full rebellion against the current government and their foolish plans to give up control of the planet to the Federation. Sure, the Federation could say they just wanted a partnership, not control, but Laurette knew better than that.  
Unfortunately, the majority of Matrians didn't seem to agree with Laurette. So what she'd wound up needing was leverage. Political leverage. She needed something that would force the people onto her side. So while Anselia had wasted two years worrying about the future, Laurette had been digging into the past. The very past that she'd spend years carefully altering while in Dreamland. If she'd known then how valuable unaltered information on the past would become (or that her tampering would be discovered.) she might have kept a backup, or something.  
Anyway, after nearly two years of hunting, she had started noticing that something was missing. Looking through old construction reports, resource allocation tables, transaction records and various other tidbits that she'd found too tedious or irrelevant to alter, she'd come to the conclusion that, prior to the Gender Wars, the Old Matrians had been building things. Big things. She wasn't sure what they were or what their purpose was, but they were heavily classified at the highest levels of government. And that meant they were probably very, very important.  
It had taken months of careful, painstaking searching to locate what she hoped was an Old Matrian artefact; a single hanger door built into (buried by?) a massive sand-covered mountain. Unfortunately for her, her team had barely had a chance to explore what they'd found when those idiot Starfleeters had barged into the place, closely followed by the Qu'Eh invasion. Now Anselia, Stafford and, conveniently enough, many of her political enemies (and allies) were hiding deep underground while she was left to deal with the Qu'Eh.  
"Site Director," a Qu'Eh functionary had walked into Laurette's (formerly Anselia's) opulent office, a clipboard held (as always) in one hand, "You're due for Assessment #232 in ten minutes,"  
"Ah yes, Assessment #232," Laurette said, a bit of acid in her tone, "And which, my dear, would that be?"  
The functionary looked at his clipboard.  
"The sewage processing system in J'Taeri," he replied, "And if I may say so, Site Director, if you were to have a headset installed, you'd find it-"  
"I don't think so," Laurette cut him off.  
"Of course. My mistake," the man bowed low, his ear-things twitching, "But Manager Hretkot is waiting..."  
"Yes, yes, let's go then," Laurette snapped.  
The Federation may have wanted power over Matria Prime, but at least they hadn't been intent on torturing her in the process.  
As she followed the Qu'Eh down the beautifully crafted corridors of the Matrian government complex, she had to admit that so far, the Qu'Eh occupation of Matria was going exactly according to plan. The Qu'Eh were more than willing to accept her as the Matrian leader who had 'disposed of' Anselia just in time to welcome the Qu'Eh. She'd been able to negotiate with Chairman P'tarek, giving him complete control over the Matrian military forces, including the captured Starfleet officers, in return for his assurances that the Matrian people wouldn't be harmed. And if Starfleet did show up in a few weeks to destroy the Qu'Eh occupational forces, the people would see her as the brave leader who had protected them during the occupation.  
It might not be enough to convince the people that Federation membership was a bad thing, but it would surely be enough to guarantee her political defeat of Anselia. And hey, if the Federation really did come to their aid, maybe membership could be useful after all.  
Either way, that idiot Stafford and that red-headed bimbo Anselia had unwittingly put her in a win-win situation.

The Invasion of Matria Prime - +5 Days:

Dr. Noel Wowryk was sitting in her day cell, pondering just what the hell it was the Qu'Eh wanted with them. The last few days had seen them immediately forced into a routine: Wake up in the small, cramped sleeping cells they'd been assigned, eat a brief breakfast, then get dragged by a pair of guards to a conference room to commence 'Monitoring'. All of them had understood when Jall had surrendered that they were becoming prisoners of war, and they had only their hopes that the Qu'Eh wouldn't kill them, or worse. But this was just…strange.  
Meals were served five times a day, though Wowryk really didn't care for the dry, bland Qu'Eh food. It was like eating from some of Jeffery's spare parts bins…everything was individually wrapped, universally adaptable and it always seemed like the one thing you wanted was missing.  
The food she could survive. She'd had to live on Starfleet rations before…and of course she was well accustomed to ritual fasting. (Which was looking like an increasingly preferable alternative to the Qu'Eh cuisine.) It was the monitoring that was on the verge of driving her mad. She had no idea how they'd done it, but the Qu'Eh had apparently been working tirelessly to analyze every action taken by the allied Federation/Matrian/Senousian fleet. They'd finally managed to decrypt the communications channels, and now had hours of Matrian comm chatter to analyze. And consider. And debate. And assess. And debate. And critique. And debate even more.  
Wowryk herself had been put on the spot several times for commands she`d given. At one point, Assessor Andrayas had stood with surprising passion and demanded; "Is there any other order you could have given? Were you really, TRULY focused on serving your customers on the Matrian vessel 'Bill of Feminine Rights'?"  
"I was focused on trying to be a good first officer," Wowryk had said coldly, looking down her nose at the woman, "And why should I co-operated with you anyway, heathen? You are the enemy!"  
"Ahem," Jall had cleared his throat, and then pointed at the armed guards pointing very large weapons at them.  
"Oh, yes," Wowryk had said, annoyed, "Them,"  
After the daily assessments had been done they'd been taken to this cell block, consisting of small, cube-shaped rooms each containing a single chair and a work station. Jall and Day had jumped immediately on the Qu'Eh computers, only to learn with disappointment that they weren't connected to the Qu'eh network and would do nothing but display quality guidelines.  
"What is torture?" Lieutenant Day mused aloud, sitting in his uncomfortable chair.  
"Being Jall's wife," Wowryk said.  
"Being Wowryk's husband," Jall said at exactly the same moment.  
"That was sweet, by the way," Pye said to Bith, "I'd high-five you, but the force field in front of my door would probably burn my hand off,"  
"Seriously, however," Day continued, the sensual undertone of the Deltan's voice managing, as always, to catch everybody's attention, "We have not been beaten, starved, raped,"  
"If only," Jall muttered wistfully. Wowryk shot him a disgusted look.  
"Maimed, deprived of sleep or drugged," Day continued, "If they wanted Federation secrets, why aren't they pulling out Jall's fingernails or something?"  
"Hey, don't go giving them ideas!" Jall snapped, "Do you KNOW how long it takes to get my cuticles this smooth?"  
"Physical torture isn't a useful means of interrogation," Wowryk said, "Any information we give our captors while under extreme duress is immediately suspect."  
She was about to say more, but noticed that everybody was looking at her with surprise.  
"I went to medical school, you know! And underwent extensive Starfleet training to become a medical officer! We DO study these sorts of things!"  
"She's right," Quintane said, "It costs virtually nothing for them to keep us here and feed us, especially since they just conquered the resources of an entire planet."  
"But what are they gaining?" Jall wondered, "And why these 'Quality Assessments'?"  
"Psychological torture," Wowryk said immediately, "Far more effective. If this keeps up, we'll all crack faster than the poor souls in the lake of fire,"  
"And the mystery of why Noel's such a bitch is solved!" Pye declared. Wowryk threw an empty cup in the direction of his cell, only to see it vaporized by the force field.  
"That's Dr. Wowryk to you, Beta shift!" she snapped.  
"They don't think they're torturing us," Jall said, frowning and ignoring the peanut gallery, "They've assessed Manager Kalmers and some of their other commanders. I think their society genuinely works like this,"  
"It feels like torture to me," Day say, sighing.  
"Why invade Matria Prime to begin with?" Quintane asked, suddenly changing the topic, "Do they want resources? Technology? Expertise?"  
"And why do they care whether or not Jall's hygiene was up to code during the battle?" Bith jumped in, "How does it affect them?"  
"It was, by the way," Jall said.  
"Sir, my station is right behind you. I could see the dandruff," Bith said.  
"Ohhh, you catty little…it's on!"  
As Bith and Jall continued to bicker, Wowryk closed her eyes and tried to think. OK. Jall was right: the Qu'Eh wanted something. They'd invaded Matria Prime for a reason. Why? Why had the Federation offered membership to Matria? Well, because the Matrians had asked for it. But surely there was something they possessed that the Federation was interested in. Why else would they promise to defend a planet so far away from their borders? Was it a matter of expansion? Wowryk had learned, during her many visits there, that Waystation was now the center of a serious push to expand Federation territory, and a permanent presence in Matrian space would sure accomplish that…  
What the hell was she thinking?  
Wowryk's eyes flew open.  
She was a doctor, for the love of all that was holy. Tactics, strategy, motivation…none of that was her area of expertise. Her job was to heal bodies. And try to convert them to Christianity, that went without saying, but above all she was a healer. Why should she care what the Qu'Eh wanted? She should just ask for a sickbay, or an infirmary or something, and insist that the Qu'Eh put her in charge of the prisoners' health needs. That would certainly allow the Qu'Eh to make the best 'quality use' of their resources!  
Why, then, was she still thinking about what the Qu'Eh might be doing to the Matrian people right now and how she could help stop it?

"THIS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE!" Mistress Laurette screamed, storming in to the office that Chairman P'tarek had claimed as his own in the Matrian government complex.  
"Please, Mistress, we have workplace codes of conduct for a reason!" P'tarek said, "If you wish to discuss something with me, you need only to send me an email,"  
"A WHAT?" Laurette shrieked, "I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THESE BIZARRE QU'EH SYSTEMS YOU USE, OR WHAT-"  
"An electronic message," P'tarek clarified, "And if you don't calm yourself, I shall have you removed from office."  
Clenching her fists, Laurette tried to think of something calming. Trees…birds…Anselia languishing underground while Laurette ran the Matrian Republic.  
"You've ordered us to give you full control of our historical archives!" Laurette said, having gained some control of herself, "Not access, or a copy…you want full control!"  
"Of course," P'tarek said calmly, "Your society must be audited. We must examine the past, as well as the present,"  
"Um…"  
"Even," P'tarek gave a dark smile, "If records of the past are…unreliable,"  
Laurette felt her temper flare again.  
"How did-"  
"Please," P'tarek waved on hand imperiously, "you couldn't even keep that a secret from your own people, never mind from us. I promise you, your civilization's quality score will be strongly affected by that little bit of carelessness in your record-keeping. Documentation is everything!"  
Laurette clenched her teeth.  
"Is that all?" she managed to ask.  
"Actually, no," P'tarek said, smiling. He rose from his desk and came around it to take Laurette's arm, "I have a little announcement to make to the people of Matria Prime. One I think you will find most interesting…"

"Come with us," the burly, Qu'Eh guard demanded, dropping the force field on the Silverado officers' day cells/cubicles.  
"Please don't tell me we're doing more assessments," Jall groaned, "I really, really don't think I can take any more of that!"  
"No." The guard refused to say any more, merely shoving Jall roughly towards to hatchway leading into the corridor.

Meanwhile, Laurette and P'tarek were taking a shuttle from the surface up to the orbiting Qu'Eh fleet. Laurette took a moment to privately savour the obvious damage to most of the Qu'Eh ships. As they came in closer to the lead ship, one of the greenish, boxy Qu'Eh cruisers, Laurette could see tiny space-suited figures crawling along the hull, replacing components on the broad, table-top like upper section. The narrower segment beneath it seemed to be their destination.  
"I'm glad we had the chance to spend a bit of private time together, Mistress," P'tarek said. Laurette grunted non-committently.  
"I mean it," P'tarek went on, "Hostile takeovers are never easy, but your people seem to be adapting quickly to the change in management. I'm sure others will, like yourself, take advantage of the new opportunities we're offering you,"  
As the shuttle banked around P'tarek's ship, something else caught Laurette's eye: A disabled Matrian cruiser was drifting in orbit, some distance from the Qu'Eh fleet.  
"I'm sure they'll be most grateful," Laurette managed to say. Her eyes were locked on the damaged Matrian ship as her mind envisioned it crashing it into P'tarek's ship, vaporizing the vile man in a massive fireball.

"Take inventory," Jall snapped, "Now!"  
They'd been taken into a broad auditorium and had been forcibly seated near the front row. The walls and seats were the same bland colours as the rest of the Qu'Eh ship, and a neat buffet sat untouched along one wall. A U-shaped balcony ringed the room, filled with dozens of armed guards pointing their weapons at the crowd of prisoners below.  
Twisting their necks around, the Silverado bridge crew began searching for familiar faces.  
"There's Ovens," Quintaine said, "and Gorsrope,"  
"Sage," Day added, "Piths."  
"I've spotted five of the Senousian fighter pilots," Jall said.  
Eventually, they managed to determine that the entire captured Silverado crew, over 100 members, was present along with the crowds of Matrians and the scattering of Senousians.  
"Ok, so why are they keeping us waiting?" Jall wondered, "What's this all about?"  
"Maybe they're going to kill us?" Wowryk gulped, "How sinful!"  
"Probably not," Jall said, "they could have done that days ago."  
"Does anybody want Last Rites anyway?"  
"No," Pye said, "but could I have a hug?"  
The lights in the auditorium dimmed. The green curtains parted and three figures stepped out. Jall immediately recognized Chairman P'tarek as the slim, slightly sibilant man strode confidently onto the stage, bringing a wave of anger over many of the prisoners. Next to him, Mistress Laurette looked pretty damned pissed herself, her ceremonial garments more rumpled than Anselia would have ever permitted. Finally, there was Admiral Verethi, the commander of the Matrian Defence Forces. Her face was impassive, her eyes cold. Jall took a small amount of pleasure in imagining the verbal abuse she was likely heaping on the Qu'Eh trying to control her.  
With the appearance of the Qu'Eh leader, the prisoners erupted in a wave of shouting and accusations. A few flung themselves at the stage, only to be pushed back by a force field.  
"Silence everybody," P'tarek called out, his voice amplified by some unseen sound system, "If I could have your attention, please!"  
"F**K YOU!" one of the Silverado crewmen screamed, electing a chorus of agreement from the surrounding prisoners.  
As a flash of rage washed over his features, P'tarek gestered at his guards. One of them carefully sighted, then fired at the offending prisoner, a flash of green light engulfing the man. Wowryk jumped from her seat, rushing towards him. She'd barely reached him when he disappeared in a transporter beam. A hush fell over the crowd as the rest of the guards readied their weapons.  
"Please, Dr. Wowryk, return to your seat," P'tarek invited.  
"Stunned," Wowryk said softly to Jall as she passed him. Jall nodded imperceptivity as she sat.  
"Ladies and gentlemen," P'tarek said loudly, his words and image being broadcast to the other Qu'Eh ships, to the Matrian government complex and into homes across the planet, "To those of you present here, I am so pleased to be able to join you, in person! To those of you watching over visuLink, I'm pleased you are able to join us for this auspicious event."  
He applauded. Laurette joined him, though Jall noticed that Verethi did not. Somehow, the fact that Laurette's 'coup' had been planned by Stafford and Anselia as a way to protect the Qu'Eh government wasn't comforting him in the slightest. None of the prisoners applauded.  
"Now, I am pleased to announce that the initial assessment of the Matrian Republic has been completed!"  
Jall and Wowryk started.  
"Does that mean they're leaving?" Wowryk demanded.  
"Somehow I doubt it," Jall replied.  
"You society and culture have much potential," P'tarek continued, "Sadly, it has been plagued by a series of unfortunate events. And so, after much deliberation, we have assessed your civilization as a 2 – 'Needs Improvement'. "  
Both Verethi and Laurette shot surprised looks at the Qu'Eh leader. Verethi looked ready to take a swing at him, but directly in her field of view (and out of sight of the cameras) a Qu'Eh soldier carefully aimed his weapon at her.  
"However, in light of the potential you have for improvement, we have decided to take you on full-time!" P'tarek beamed, "An offer is being made to all of your Matrian Defence Forces, effective immediately, for full-time employment with the Qu'Eh organization! Additional offers will be made in the coming weeks as we more fully integrate your corporate world-space into our own. I am confident that in the span of a few short decades, we can bring your score up to a solid 3 – 'Business Standard`."  
"Turning down these offers," P'tarek's radiant smile abruptly took on a sinister quality, "would not be good for business."  
"End transmission," P'tarek's assistant said into his microphone implant.  
"Excellent," P'tarek said, nodding as guards joined him on stage to keep a closer eye on Verethi and Laurette, "I'm so pleased we didn't have to shoot anybody on camera. It's good for keeping people in line, but it's really not the sort of public image we wish to project."  
Verethi abruptly exploded into a burst of rage, screaming curses and epithets and swinging her arms at the Qu'Eh leader. At least Jall assumed she was screaming. One of the Qu'eh had pointed a small device at her mouth, cancelling out any sounds she was attempting to make. Her guards easily restrained her from attacking P'tarek.  
"Those of you in this room," P'tarek spoke, ignoring Verethi, "are senior officers and crew member of many of the Matrian cruisers disabled during the unpleasantness last week. We are even fortunate enough to be joined by the esteemed Dr. Wowryk herself, whom I understand made quite an impression on your people." He smiled pleasantly at Wowryk, who simply gave him one of her darker looks, usually reserved for the vilest of sinners or Commander Jall.  
"As I'm sure you are aware, transitions like the one your culture is currently undergoing don't happen easily, or overnight. There will be a great deal of resistance, among the people and even among you. To that end, we will be taking steps to ensure that we receive only the highest quality of service from you, our newest full-time employees!"  
"I don't like this," Pye said, his fingers gripping his seat.  
"Commander Jall, would you please join us on the stage?"  
Jall stood.  
"Um, no thank you," he said politely.  
"Perhaps I should be more precise," P'tarek said, "Come to the stage, now."  
"Perhaps I should be more precise," Jall said, perfectly mimicking P'tarek's tone and posture, "Go f**k yourself,"  
Wowryk winced.  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks, and Jall abruptly found himself standing on stage. Two Qu'Eh guards stepped forward to restrain him.  
"Bring in the Badges of Office," P'tarek said.  
Two Qu'Eh stepped onto the stage from the wings, each holding a small box. They stopped next to P'Tarek and, in unison, opened the boxes. P'tarek reached in.  
"First, to Adesen Verethi, we proudly confer on you the title of Assistant Vice-President of Defence!"  
He turned, giving Jall and Verethi a good look at what he'd taken out of the box.  
It was a Qu'Eh implant.  
Verethi began struggling anew as P'tarek brought the device to her head. As soon as the round, dome-shaped implant came in contact with her ear, she abruptly jerked, tiny metal tendrils reaching under her skin, fusing the device in place.  
"And to Commander San Jall of Starfleet, we confer the title of Manager, and command of the Qu'Eh vessel Resource Reclamation,"  
Before he could struggle, Jall felt one of the guards press a weapon against his back. He tried to twist his head away as P'tarek approached him, another implant in hand, but was unable to evade the Qu'Eh leader for more than a few seconds. He felt the cold metal on his ear, then a strange, numbing sensation. He could hear the crunch as metal tendrils forced their way into his skull and he could feel a mild stretching sensation as more components forced their way under his skin. In his ear, a soft voice was now speaking.  
"Welcome to the Qu'Eh organization," it said, "As a new member, Assistant Manager, Manager, or even Vice-President, your co-operation and a high quality of service are essential for the success of the business. As such, this implant, the LucenLux 5000, will allow immediate and effective monitoring of your individual quality. This implant allows your immediate supervisor to reward you for a job well done, or punish you for failing to meet established quality standards. Punishments vary from discomfort, to extreme pain and even to death. Remember, you are an important resource to us, and we look forward to many years of pain-free service on your part. Your performance will now be recorded for quality assurance and training purposes,"  
"Now she tells me," Jall groaned

Lt. Cmdr David Stern watched the huge display screen in the Matrian sports arena. After P'tarek's face vanished, replaced by strange looking symbols, Stern turned to the other members of the Hazardous Team.  
"I think that's our cue to get the hell out of here," he said softly to Lieutenant Rengs.  
"I thought our cue to get the hell out of here came when were captured and brought here in the first place," the Bajoran muttered back.  
"Well, yeah, it was," Stern said, "But now it's REALLY time to do it,"  
"I'll go get Captain Glotenfish," Lieutenant Marson said, leaving the group.  
"I still say we cannot trust him," Crewman Kreklor said. The Klingon was sweating (and stinking) up a storm on account of the big woolly hat that was hiding his alien features from the Qu'Eh guards.  
"He's a Matrian," Stern said for the 50th time, "This is his planet, there's no way he'd betray us to the Qu'Eh,"  
"I've considered betraying you to the Qu'Eh,"  
The HT turned to look at the Matrian soldier that Marson had just brought to their gathering, somewhat surprised by his sudden confession.  
"What the f**k?" Simmons demanded, "How can you…what…after all we've done…"  
"Down boy," Stern said, "You're sputtering,"  
"I've decided that it would be a bad idea," Glotenfish said, looking slightly afraid of Simmons as the explosives expert started unconsciously reaching for his grenades. (Luckily for the Matrian, Simmons had used them all in the battle.)  
Glotenfish was a Matrian male, fairly short by the standards of most species. He had been one of the local troop commanders. His Matrian rank roughly translated to that of an army Captain, which weirdly enough was the equivalent of a Starfleet Lieutenant. He'd been an officer on board one of the Matrian vessels that had been responsible for repeated raids and kidnappings on Senous, back when the Matrian men were under the influence of the mind-controlling M-SIDS. After the Matrian civilization had switched from conquest and kidnapping to co-existence and rebuilding, he'd stayed with the Matrian Defense Force and had been transferred to the planet to help shape the planetary police and security force. He'd been captured along with the HT near the end of the Qu'Eh invasion. Despite his low rank, he was the highest-ranking member of the Matrian forces present.  
"You heard?" Stern asked, gesturing to the screen.  
"I did," Glotenfish said, taking a deep breath, "We're ready,"  
"You're sure about this?" Rengs asked, "The Qu'Eh won't be treating their captives as well after we break free, you can bet on that!"  
"If it means some of us have the chance to strike at them later?" the Matrian man asked, looking surprisingly cold despite his not-so-manly features. He turned to leave.  
"We'll be waiting for your signal," he said.  
The HT exchanged a look.  
"When did we get so hard-core?" Stern wondered, "I mean, listen to us! We sound like a squad of Federation Marines, or something!"  
"We bad! We bad!" Simmons started waving his hands over his head and swaying his hips.  
"There goes that image," Rengs muttered.

In orbit of the planet, Jall, Wowryk and the Beta shift officers had been escorted to a Qu'Eh shuttle which was taking them to their new ship.  
"This sucks," Pye said, scratching at his Qu'Eh implant.  
"Tell me about it," Jall agreed, "How am I going to score with this thing clamped to my head? Implants are SUCH a turn-off!"  
"It could be worse," Wowryk chided them, "Borg assimilations are far more invasive. This is more like…like…"  
"A minor violation?" Quintaine grimaced.  
"I can't help but notice," Jall said, glancing in Wowryk's direction, "That one of us here didn't get a nice piece of ear jewellery,"  
"Don't ask me to explain it, because I don't know either!" Wowryk snapped, unconsciously rubbing her bare ears, "Perhaps the Qu'Eh simply recognized that violating a child of God in such a way would be unforgivable!"  
"Or maybe," Jall said, "They're familiar enough with our customs to know that, as a doctor, you're going to do your job without being coerced. Unlike us,"  
"I just don't get it," Bith said, "The Qu'Eh invade the place, shoot up the defence forces, and then they just tell us we're going to work for them? Do they really think that we're going to obey everything they say just because they've stuck some stupid chunk of metal in our-YEEEOOWWWTTTHHHH!"  
Bith jerked as a blast of blinding pain shot through her body, coursing from her implant, right down to her toes and back again.  
"This is Supervisor Neum," a calm, measured Matrian voice spoke through all of their implants, "To answer the lady's question, we do indeed expect you to work for us without reservation. The consequences for disobedience are…unpleasant. Thank you for choosing employment with the Qu'Eh,"  
The voice disappeared, but Jall was certain that Neum, whomever she was, was still listening to everything they said.  
"What happened? What's going on?" demanded Wowryk, who hadn't heard anything.  
"This is bad," Pye said, biting his lip, "This is very bad. They want us to serve in the Qu'Eh fleet? What if we're on one of their ships when Tunney's fleet gets here and obliterates everything? What if they send us off to invade somebody else? What if they expect us to 'hire' other people?"  
Jall was looking at Wowryk again, wondering just why P'tarek hadn't deemed it necessary to implant her.  
"I wish I could have been one of the people down on the planet," Sage muttered.  
"Trapped in an und-"  
"Oh, look at all that SPACE WEATHER out there!" Bith said suddenly, pointing out the shuttle cabin's viewport, "What great SPACE WEATHER we're having!" Glaring at Sage, she tapped her implant.  
"Ohhhh!" Sage's eye's widened, suddenly aware of the information he'd nearly given away, "Er, yes. That is very interesting space weather," he said robotically.  
"This is bad," Pye repeated.  
Wowryk was looking out the viewport. She'd noticed something out of the corner of her eye when Bith hand pointed, and it was getting closer.  
"Oh no," she murmured, "No, no, no,"  
"You have GOT to be kidding me," Sage groaned, following her gaze.  
"Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot's voice came over the shuttle's intercom, "We're coming up on the Qu'Eh Cruiser Resource Reclamation. Please fasten your restraints and prepare for docking,"  
Directly ahead of them, growing larger in the viewport, drifted the Federation starship Silverado.  
"I don't think we'll be leaving Matrian Space for a good while," Jall said, a thoughtful look on his face.

Down on the planet, Stern was ready to give the signal that would, hopefully, initiate enough confusion for himself and the Hazardous Team to escape.  
"This has to be the WORST escape plan ever," Rengs muttered.  
"As opposed to flinging Frit Naketh over a wall with a blanket back when the Senousians captured us?" Marson wondered.  
"The Senousians didn't give us beer," Stern reminded them.  
The Qu'Eh hadn't put any real effort into the care and feeding of their captives. As a sports arena, their makeshift prison was equipped with over a dozen snack booths, drink stands and even a rather upscale restaurant. The Qu'Eh had simply beamed in additional stock and supplies as those present ran low and left the cooking and distribution to the prisoners themselves. They had distributed about two thousands 'Prison Quality Survey' forms, and kept nagging Glotenfish to tabulate the results.  
Stern and the rest of the HT wandered over to one of the stands that sold the Matrian equivalent of beer.  
"Give us a round," Stern ordered, "We need to blow off some steam,"  
The female Matrian corporal behind the counter looked him over.  
"Are you wanting beer, or could I offer you boys in something a little more…entertaining?" she gave Stern a suggestive smile and unzipped her shirt slightly.  
"I love the women on this planet," Stern grinned, "They're so…horny!"  
"By the Prophets," Rengs rolled his eyes.  
"Wait, is she offering for…um, all of us?" Simmons asked, jumping up and down like a hyper dog, "you guys are my buds, but I dunno if I really want you to see my-"  
"Get your minds out of the gutter!' Rengs roared, "Some of us are married, and we all have work to do!"  
"Ohh!" the women exclaimed, "You meant the pass phrase! Silly me!" she zipped her shirt back up and turned to get some glasses.  
"But…but…" Stern's lip quivered.  
"Here you go," she said, putting several cups of beer on the counter, "Good luck!'  
The HT began making a slow circuit of the promenade, beers held prominently in hand. As they passed each stand, the Matrian police/soldiers/whatever started busying themselves with their beverage dispensers.  
"This is a stupid idea," Rengs said again.  
"That's why it's perfect," Stern said, "It's clever, it's unexpected, it's-"  
"It's like that time we tried catching a cartoon coyote with a quantum torpedo?"  
"That was on the holodeck. It doesn't count,"  
They'd almost finished their circuit of the promenade. The Matrians, who had been informed of the plan, were doing a very bad job of looking nonchalant. The heavily armed Qu'Eh soldiers guarding the exits didn't seem to notice.  
"Ready?" Stern asked.  
"No," Rengs groaned.  
"Yes," Simmons cracked his knuckled.  
Dar'ugal merely sighed, knowing his fur was about to become completely unmanageable.  
Stern took a deep breath.

Agent Furdenit was a fairly low-ranking Qu'Eh employee, and so it really had been no surprise when he'd been assigned the monotonous task of guarding Matrian prisoners until they could be hired and put through the proper orientation process. Still, he hadn't been prepared for the sheer boredom of standing guard over a bunch of very quiet prisoners. He wasn't sure if the Matrians were naturally submissive, or if the Qu'Eh had just done a good job of taking the fight out of them. Of course, he couldn't know that decades of mind-control had installed a certain submissiveness in the predominantly male soldiers. Nor did he know that several of his prisoners weren't Matrian or submissive.  
All he knew was that one minute he was standing there, minding his own business, when one of the prisoners started screaming:  
"BEER FIGHT!"  
Before Furdnit could react, he was hit by a blast of freezing cold, bubbly liquid.

All around the promenade, the Matrians manning the beverage stands pulled out their handy little filling spouts, took aim, and blasted the Qu'Eh guards. Similar to beer taps on Earth, the Matrians had fairly small hoses with a variety of buttons that allowed different types of beer to be dispensed. A tweak here by Stern, a minor programming change there by Marson, and the low-pressure dispensers had been transformed into high-pressure beer cannons. The Matrian soldiers rushed at the Qu'Eh, cups of beer and sugary, soda-like beverages in hand, all of it being flung at the alien troops. The Qu'Eh tried to fight back, only to find their weapons jammed up with bubbly liquid.  
"SCATTER!" Stern cried, leading the HT out the arena doors and into the streets, a small army of Matrian troops following suit.

Chairman P'tarek sat in his command chair aboard his flagship, eyes closed. He was listening carefully to the flow of voices coming through his implant. He switched through many of the newer channels, listening to Verethi rant about the evils of the Qu'Eh, one of the Matrian ship captains plot to destroy a Qu'Eh cruiser and Commander Jall…well. P'tarek didn't understand all of the alien profanity, but the man was clearly unhappy about something.  
None of it mattered. The rebellious Matrians would be dealt with and learn that they really couldn't resist the Qu'Eh, not now that they'd been hired on full-time.  
"Chairman? We have a problem,"  
P'tarek opened his eyes, somewhat annoyed that his monitoring had been interrupted.  
"We have many problems," he said calmly, "All of which can be solved with feedback, analysis and the application of proper quality control,"  
"A group of Matrian soldiers escaped from the detention center in the capitol city!" the man exclaimed.  
P'tarek's eyes flashed. He seemed on the verge of screaming then, with visible effort, calmed himself.  
"I want notes placed in the files of each of the guards," he said, "Rate their performance as 1 – 'Unsatisfactiory'." He said.  
"Y-yes Chairman," his assistant stammered. Those guards would be lucky to survive their next Performance Reviews!  
"How did they manage to get away?" P'tarek asked.  
"They attacked our men with…um…beer, Chairman,"  
P'tarek frowned.  
"That doesn't match our pre-assessment of their usual procedures, does it?" he mused.  
"No, ,"  
"Hmmm," P'tarek stared out his window, looking down at the planet below.  
"Bring to me," he said finally, "We will have to increase our planned transition. Contingency plan C-21-4."  
"As you command, Chairman,"

"This is the main shuttlebay,"  
"I know,"  
"Usually, the crew simply refers to it as 'Shuttlebay 1',"  
"I know that too,"  
"It is used for the egress, ingress, storage and maintained of the Resource Reclaimation's support craft,"  
"Yet another useless little tidbit of information that my fabulous mind is already fully aware of,"  
The Qu'Eh, introduced simply as Facilitator Yugreth was proving to be an interesting lesson in cultural similarities for the Silverado officers. At the moment, he was teaching them that the Qu'Eh mannerisms relating to frustration were very similar to those of most humanoids.  
"Manager Jall," he said, crossing his arms and clutching his clipboard to his chest.  
"Commander Jall," Jall corrected, 'Commander has 'man' in it,"  
"So does 'Manager'!" Yugreth snapped. He took a deep breath, then scribbled some notes down on his clipboard.  
"Manager Jall," he said again, "I'm attempting to ensure that you and your people are familiar with the layout and the amenities of the Resource Reclaimation so you can better complete your assigned tasks,"  
"This is our ship!" Quintaine pointed out.  
"Yes, yes it is. You're assigned here as of today," Yugreth said, "Now, as I was saying,"  
"This is a Federation starship!" Jall snapped, a vein in his forehead starting to throb, "We're from the Federation! WE FLEW THE FR*KING SHIP HERE!"  
"Ah, yes I do see that in the notes here," Yugreth agreed, though apparently he didn't register the information, "Now then, the Resource Reclamation is an Embattled-class starship-"  
"Ambassador," Sage spoke up.  
"-has 35 decks-"  
"36,"  
"-and was constructed in Box Dock 3 in Earth orbit-"  
"Try Utopia Planetia. It's the renovations that were done in BD-3,"  
Yugreth dropped his arms in exasperation.  
"Look, I have all the notes right here! Who do you think is right: you, or a carefully prepared orientation briefing?"  
"WE'VE SERVED ON THIS SHIP FOR 4 F**KING YEARS!" Jall screamed.  
"Then I would expect you to be more familiar with his specifications," Yugreth said, looking down his nose at Jall.  
"Her," Wowryk said, "We refer to our ships in the feminine," Privately, she was rather enjoying the fact that Jall's head looked almost ready to pop.  
"Well that's just silly," the Qu'Eh laughed.  
"F**k you, f**k your orientation briefing and f**k the-YYEEOOOOOWWWIIITTTCCCHHHH!" Jall's tirade was interrupted as a blast of pain shot through his body, "AND F**K THIS F**KING PIECE OF S**T IMPLAT…AAAARRRGHHHH!"  
"Are you finished?" Yugreth asked calmly.  
Jall just glared.  
"Excellent," Yugreth took a quick look around the shuttlebay, "Well, as this is the only habitable section of this vessel at the moment, I'll be returning to my ship for the night. Make yourselves comfortable; we have a big day tomorrow!"  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks, then the Qu'Eh vanished, leaving them standing there in the middle of the shuttlebay. A few seconds later, a pile of supplies materialized.  
"Let me be sure I understand this properly," Lieutenant Day said, his voice surprisingly calm, "The Qu'Eh wish us to repair Silverado, then serve aboard her as members of their fleet,"  
"Exactly right," Supervisor Neum said, through their implants.  
"They have got to be kidding," Sage groaned, looking around the room.  
At the end of the battle against the Qu'Eh, Jall had tried ordering a self-destruct with the intention of preventing Silverado from falling into Matrian hands. When that had failed, he'd rigged the impulse reactors to build up a massive overload, then release it directly into all the ships systems. The end result was that Silverado was completely dead in space. The display panels near the shuttlebay exit, the panels lining the control booth on the second level and even the lighting fixtures on the ceiling had all blown outward, littering the floor with debris. Life support had been down for days, causing the ship to cool to close to absolute zero on the dark side while the side of the ship towards the sun stayed fairly warm. The bay was illuminated by a bank of Qu'Eh flood lights, heated by a Qu'Eh heater and provided with breathable air by a Qu'Eh air exchanger.  
Once Yugreth had disappeared, Jall calmed noticeably.  
"Let's see what they've left us," he said, pointing at the supply pile. Pye, Day and Bith immediately started digging, while Sage started poking at one of the blown-out panels. Other Silverado crewmembers were milling around the bay and Quintaine quickly took charge of organizing cleanup teams.  
"If you need to talk about it…" Wowryk said softly.  
"Nothing to talk about," Jall replied shortly.  
"I've rarely seen you so…enraged," Wowryk said, crossing her arms, "I realize we're not the best of friends, but given the circumstances-"  
Jall turned, then grabbed her hand. Wowryk almost yanked it away, then remembered she was supposed to be offering support. When he started stroking her hand, however, that was the last straw.  
"HEY!" she snapped, yanking her hand back.  
"What?" Jall's eyes widened, "Oh! No! I wasn't…just give me your hand and pay attention!"  
"Wow," Supervisor Neum's voice giggled in Jall's ear, "Your 'Quality of Sex' form is going to make for interesting reading tomorrow!"  
"Shut up!" Jall snapped. Wowryk looked about ready to hit him, but he pointed at his implant, then rolled his eyes. He took her hand again.  
It took Wowryk a moment to realize that he wasn't just stroking her hand: he was writing letters on it.  
THEY HEAR EVERYTHING, he wrote, I WANTED YUGRETH TO THINK I'M UNHINGED. IT WILL BE USEFULL.  
He released her hand.  
"Now, let's see what they've left us to work with,"  
The supply pile had yielded bedrolls, portable food replicators, portable power supplies, tools, some raw ore and a parts replicator.  
"We're supposed to fix the ship using THIS?" Sage exclaimed, his eyes bugging out.  
"We'll do what we can," Jall said.  
"But we've got 36 decks of fried circuits, blown out panels…I mean…there…EVEN THE GRAVITY DOESN'T WORK!"  
"There are 35 decks on an Embattled-class starship," Supervisor Neum said into their ears.  
"SHUT UP!" Jall, Sage, Bith and Pye shouted, causing Wowryk to jump in surprise.  
"I'm taking points off this week's quality assessment!" Neum snapped back.  
"Jall," Day said suddenly, spotting something else in the pile, "Is that a-"  
"It is," Jall cut him off, making slashing motions over his throat. Was it a mistake? Did the Qu'Eh mean to give it to them? Was it even what he thought it was?  
"Excuse me," Jall said, grabbing what he was very sure was a subspace transceiver, along with a power supply, and running off to the far corner of the bay.  
"Huh?" Pye started, one hand going for his implant. "What? Oh. Um, what if I don't –OUCH! OK!" He turned to Wowryk, "Chairman P'tarek politely requests that you join him in his office,"  
"Oh, sure," Wowryk crossed her arms again, "And how exactly do I get there?"  
She abruptly vanished in a transporter beam.  
"Something like that, I guess," Pye shrugged.

Wowryk found herself in what she assumed was Chairman P'tarek's office. It actually seemed sort of familiar, in the way that something that's completely stereotypical can be familiar. Wowryk had done a bit of research on President Bradley Dillon once, one of the more successful businessmen in the Federation. The images she'd seen of his offices made them seem classy, upscale, the sort of places where one was awed by the care that had gone into their design.  
P'tarek's office felt like it wanted to be Bradley Dillon's office.  
The room itself was strangely shaped, almost star-shaped, but with irregular angles. The bland tan colours of the walls and ceilings didn't work at all with the green, obviously fake wood panels and P'tarek's desk was a massive chunk of some transparent material that looked like it picked up fingerprints the way Jall picked up tricks. The chandelier would have been acceptable, if it hadn't consisted of coloured bulbs that give it the appearance of a Christmas tree. The mood lighting was horribly overdone, making the room far too bright. Finally, it looked like somebody had tried to use fixtures of precious metals to give the room a feeling of wealth…which just reflected the way-too-bright mood lighting.  
"Dr. Wowryk," P'tarek stood and came around his desk to greet her, "It's such a pleasure to be able to sit down with you for a bit of one-on-one time. Please, make yourself comfortable. May I offer you a beverage?"  
"Water," Wowryk said coolly, taking a seat.  
Another Qu'Eh immediately game in with the requested beverage.  
"As you can see," he said, his minion departing, "There are advantages to being monitored,"  
"But for some reason, I wasn't good enough to be 'hired'?" Wowryk asked bluntly, "Or perhaps you recognized that what you're doing is a travesty against God and-"  
P'tarek paled.  
"Please, my dear, we must keep religion separate from the workplace," he said. He quickly regained his composure. "No, , we chose not to monitor you for the same reason we chose not to monitor Mistress Laurette. You are, simply put, a high-profile person in the Matrian Outsourcing Component. "  
He leaned forward.  
"We're not here to destroy the Matrians, Doctor," he said, "We're here to help them better themselves, which is far more noble than the reasons your Federation had for coming here,"  
"We came here because they invited us!" Wowryk said.  
"No, you came here to attack them, to bring them out of hibernation and to impose your social values onto them in their very vulnerable state," P'tarek corrected calmly.  
"They attacked us!" Wowryk snapped, "They kidnapped Simon and brainwashed ME!"  
"Now that the Matrians are part of the Qu'Eh Organization, we can ensure that they find their way in the galaxy again," P'tarek said, ignoring her outbursts, "It will happen, Doctor, with or without your help."  
"Then why am I important?" Wowryk asked.  
P'tarek eyes her for a moment.  
"You could make things…easier," he said slowly, "Less painful for us, for yourself, and for the Matrians."  
"And how's that, exactly?"  
"Join the Qu'Eh," P'tarek said, "voluntarily. Become a Vice-President, and encourage the Matrian people to accept employment with the Qu'Eh."  
"And what do I get out of this?" Wowryk asked sceptically.  
"A nice office down on Matria Prime," P'tarek said, "Decent benefits. And control of the Matrian religion."  
Something inside Wowryk snapped. It wasn't the sort of snap that she'd seen Stafford experience, with a sudden flash of rage, or the fake snap that Jall had performed for Yugreth. This was a cold snap, like a blizzard had just hit her core. It was a flash of cold certainty, mixed with determination.  
P'tarek wasn't just mildly interested in her cooperation. He wanted it badly. And he had the bizarre idea that she'd be willing to sell it. And he knew enough about her to make a tempting offer.  
"I don't think the Matrians will pay much attention to me," she said, "I'm just an alien doctor to them,"  
"Please," P'tarek waved a hand, "We've been monitoring the Matrians very carefully for months. We know that you were instrumental in their reawakening and that their government used you almost as a symbol, unofficially of course, of how women could learn to tolerate men," he laughed, "Tolerate men! If only they knew more about their own history, they'd realize just how absurd they've become,"  
Wowryk leaned forward. This was stuff she hadn't heard of before.  
"What do you mean?" she asked.  
"I'm sorry, that's confidential company information," P'tarek said, a gleam in his eye, "But I will say that we've taken control of all the library computer cores on the planet, and I can tell you that the Matrians have lost more information in the past two hundred years than even they are aware of,"  
"But back to the topic at hand. You can accept employment with the Qu'Eh and work with us, on our terms. Or you can go back to that ship with those meddling aliens and live in a piece of worthless wreckage."  
"The Federation is coming," Wowryk said coldly, "And they are TOTALLY going to get biblical on your ass!"  
"Yes, I admit I'm a tad worried about that," P'tarek said, "That's why I left Manager Jall a little present."  
He tapped a button. A section of wall pivoted, revealing a large screen. An image appeared. It looked like the remains of Silverado's shuttlebay, but it didn't seem to be coming from a surveillance camera. The view bobbed and pivoted, and there was something blurry on one side.  
Wowryk suddenly realized that she was looking at an image taken by Jall's implant. (The caption 'Jall, S, Manager 233812', displayed on the lower corner of the screen, registered in her mind a moment later) After taking a glance around the shuttlebay, Jall seemed to focus on a piece of Qu'Eh technology in front of him. It was the subspace transceiver he'd grabbed right before Wowryk had been beamed away.  
"I left Manager Jall a little present," P'tarek explained, looking somewhat smug, "Oh, I wouldn't give him anything too powerful. But he'll probably figure out in a moment or two that he can…yes, there he goes.  
Wowryk watched as Jall initiated a command-line connection to the Matrian Sector communications relay, parked just outside Matrian space. The relay was powerful enough to connect to the Federation data and communications network.  
Jall quickly logged in and did a message retrieval. Wowryk covered her mouth as her eyes took in the message. This was bad. And even worse, P'tarek knew exactly what kind of situation the Starfleet officers now found themselves in. And Jall was completely oblivious to that fact.

MESSAGE STARTS:

TO: USS SILVERADO, NCC-135060, MATRIAN SECTOR

FROM: ADMIRAL EDWARD TUNNEY, STARBASE 45, RAMSON SECTOR

SUBJECT: RE: REINFORCEMENTS

MESSAGE READS:

OPERATION SALVAGE VESSELS READY TO DEPART WAYSTATION HAVE BEEN DEEMED INADAQUATE TO COUNTER-ATTACK. FLEET ADMIRAL RA'AL REFUSES ADDITIONAL ASSETS.

SORRY PEOPLE, YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN FOR NOW. GOOD LUCK.

MESSAGE ENDS

"I think Federation stock just took a bit of a dive, don't you?" P'tarek smiled coldly.

End


	3. Restraining Order

Star Traks: Silverado

5.3 - Rat Race

Qu'Eh Invasion +9 Days:

"Trish, are you sure this is such a good idea?" Sylvia was asking. Her voice was coming out of Yanick's comm-badge, as Fifebee's holo-relay was currently on one of the upper tower levels, too far away for a holographic projection down to the transit hub.  
"I'm sure," Yanick said, "We've got a set of Matrian comm-badges, so we can stay in contact without worrying about that interference thingy,"  
"Trish," Yanick could hear the sigh in Sylvia's voice, "I'm not going to argue that you and T'Parief need to sort through some things. But from what I understand, this place is huge, unexplored and possibly dangerous!"  
"And it's been empty for a good two hundred years!" Yanick said, "My mind is made up!"  
"Are you talking to yourself again? You know that's a sign of insanity," Stafford had come up to where Yanick and her pile of bags were waiting for T'Parief.  
"She's talking to me, Chris," Sylvia said.  
"Oh. Hi,"  
"Hi!"  
"So, um, not exactly travelling light, are you?" Stafford commented, pointing at the pile of bags.  
"I need my things," Yanick shrugged.  
"No, you do not," T'Parief said. He'd come around a corner and onto the transit platform. He wore a heavy Starfleet survival pack on his back and carried another in one meaty hand. He held it out to Yanick.  
"What's this?" she asked.  
"Your luggage," he said flatly.  
"Oh thanks Pari," Yanick giggled, "but I already packed."  
"We are not taking this," T'Parief said, pointing at the pile of bags.  
"What? But-"  
"No!" he growled, his fangs showing just a bit, "I have agreed to this trip, we are going where you want to go, it is now MY turn to make a decision! We are roughing it this trip, and that is that!"  
"I'm just gonna…go…" Stafford said, jerking his thumb behind him and edging away.  
"Me too," Sylvia said. There was a chirp as the comm channel closed.  
Yanick and T'Parief glared at each other.  
"What about my cot?" she asked, "Mr. Snuggles? Those little chocolate things I grabbed before leaving the ship?"  
"We don't need them," T'Parief said, "You want this to be about the two of us? Then it is going to be JUST the two of us!"  
He stepped into the waiting tram.  
"Are you coming, or not?" he asked.  
"Ohhhhh!" Yanick seethed, "Men!"

Jeffery and Stafford watched from a nearby balcony as the small tram picked up speed, darting into a nearby tunnel and shooting off in the direction of the entry hanger and the Matrian Camp.  
"Too bad we haven't figured out how to send that thing to any new destinations yet," Jeffery mused, "They've got a hell of a long walk to where she wants to go…all the way around the cavern!"  
"Yeah," Stafford crossed his arms, "You're sure the first security teams we sent didn't find anything out there?"  
"Miles of corridors, 12 hangers and about two billion locked doors," Jeffery confirmed.  
"I dunno," Stafford bit his lip, "I still don't like this,"  
He turned and started heading back towards the command complex.

Many, many, many levels above them, Fifebee and Valtaic were strolling along a dimly lit corridor. They were in the second highest accessible level of the central tower, and it was barely larger than the command complex above.  
Fifebee leaned into a door, her head and shoulders vanishing.  
"Lounge," she said, "Make a note, there is a comfortable looking chair that somebody may want to come and get, once you have figured out an easy way to unseal the doors,"  
"Are you certain you've purged all of Sylvia from your system?" Valtaic asked.  
"No," Fifebee replied, walking to the next set of doors and poking her head in.  
"Lavatory," she reported, "Given the nature of my holoraphic personality database, I suspect it will be some time before all behavioural subroutines related to Sylvia are fully purged. However, our separation was completely successful,"  
"Understood," Valtaic nodded. "Oh!" he said, suddenly remembering humanoid etiquette, "That is…good? To hear!"  
"Yes thank you," Fifebee said absently, poking her head through another door.  
"Hmmm," Valtaic could hear her say, "That is odd, there appears to be….EEEEEE!"  
Fifebee had stepped through the door, then let loose an ear-splitting shriek that quickly faded.  
As suddenly as she'd vanished, she re-appeared next to Valtaic, looking somewhat shaken.  
"What was that?" he demanded.  
"Turboshaft," Fifebee swallowed.  
"That concludes this level," Valtaic said, giving Fifebee's holo-relay a tug and heading towards the stairs.  
"This is going to take us months!" Fifebee sighed.  
"Yes, yes it most likely is," Valtaic agreed.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"  
Stafford spun around so quickly that he had to grab on to the command balcony railing to keep from falling to the floor. His world tilted around him as he stared down at the two-level drop between him and one of the command complex's lower windows. Gulping, he pulled himself back and turned to face his accuser, Queen Anselia.  
"The meaning of what?" he responded, "This funny little squiggly thing on the control panel? I don't know. I can't read Matrian,"  
"No!" Anselia finished climbing the steps into the circular command deck, "We mean what is the meaning of you reassigning our liaison officer and your chief of security to a vacation without consulting us!"  
"It's not like they were doing anything all that important," Stafford shrugged.  
"Perhaps you have forgotten," Anselia seethed, "But you are OUR Minister of Planetary Defence! YOU report to US!"  
"And maybe you've forgotten," Stafford crossed his arms, the heat rising up his neck, "That I'm a Starfleet officer in a survival situation! By Federation law, that gives me a certain amount of authority!"  
"We are not bound by Federation law!" Anselia snapped.  
"Hah! Jokes on you! Yes you are!" Stafford shouted, pointing a finger at her face, "And as I recall that's a big part of the reason why I just LOST MY F**KING SHIP!"  
"Your SHIP?" Anselia screamed, "I lost my PLANET!"  
She and Stafford stood nose-to-nose for several seconds.  
"We are in charge," Anselia said firmly.  
Stafford almost told her where she could go shove it, but a thought suddenly occurred to him:  
He really didn't want to be in charge down here anyway.  
Anselia wanted to worry about what they should actually do to pass the time until reinforcements arrived? Let her. He'd lost his ship for a second time now, defending her frickin' planet. Dozens of his crewmen were now captives of the Qu'Eh, at least until help arrived, and he was stuck sleeping on a cot next to Jeffery. Life sucked.  
"Fine," he said, "You're in charge. And exactly what do you think we can do to single-handedly free your planet?"  
"Rebellion," Anselia said simply.  
"Um, OK. Anything more specific?"  
"We must contact our people, let them know that their government is still intact," Anselia said, "We must encourage them to resist the Qu'Eh however possible! We must be prepared to rise up against the Qu'Eh when your Federation fleet does arrive!"  
Stafford had to admit, those were good points.  
"You realize," he said, "that anything you do to communicate with the outside world could bring the Qu'Eh down on this place,"  
"We do," she said, "Which is why I want your people concentrating on activating this facilities defence systems,"  
"Whoah," Stafford said, "This place has defence systems? Since when?"  
"It is an Old Matrian military installation," Anselia said, "It contains attack ships. It is in a well-defended position underground. It must have defence systems!"  
"A defence system powerful enough to fight off the whole Qu'eh fleet?" Stafford said sceptically. He gestured at the holographic display in the center of the room, where they could see Qu'Eh cruisers orbiting the planet, "Wouldn't that just be too convenient?"  
"One step at a time," Anselia said, "For now, we simply wish to defend those of us that are here,"

Yanick and T'Parief had ridden the tram out to the outer rim of the facility, disembarked and started following one of the seemingly endless corridors that ringed the place. Makeshift signs had been setup at some of the intersections, pointing the way to the Matrian Camp in what had been unilaterally declared Hanger 2, surface access from Hanger 1 or the tram station to the central island. As they passed the turn-off to the Matrian Camp and its corresponding, non-functional tram station, Yanick spoke up.  
"I sure wish we could have ridden to the far side," she said.  
"The walk will do us good," T'Parief said bluntly, adjusting the straps on his pack.  
"You maybe," Yanick grunted, giving a futile tug on one of her straps, "Some of us aren't built for carrying heavy stuff!"  
"Perhaps if you put more effort into your exercise routine, you would be," T'Parief said.  
"Are you calling me fat?"  
"No,"  
"Cuz it sounds like you are!"  
"I am not,"  
The walked in silence for a few moments. Moments stretched into minutes, then into over half an hour. The whole time, they saw nothing but the blue and red Matrian corridors, locked doorways and the occasional transit station.  
At the third or fourth tram station, T'Parief abruptly turned off the corridor and towards a non-descript looking door.  
"Pari, what are you doing?"  
"I recognize the marking on this door," he said, "It is the same as the marking on the stairways in the central hub,"  
"Uh, we're here to spend some quality time together, not to go off exploring!" Yanick objected.  
T'Parief turned to her.  
"We are walking together. Does it really matter if we walk someplace nobody has been yet?"  
With that he fired his phaser, cutting through the door, then stepped into the stairwell.  
"Ohhhhh!" Yanick fumed, following him.

They took the stairway down several levels until they came to a door with more labels on it than any they had found so far. T'Parief had reached for his phaser, only to jump back in surprise when the door actually opened.  
"Some doors are unlocked," Yanick said nervously, "Like that one back in the lab,"  
They stepped into another corridor. This one was wider, higher and even more utilitarian than the one they'd left. After a few minutes of walking, still following the curve of the facility's outer area, Yanick spoke up again.  
"Pari, we have problems," she said.  
"Yes," he agreed. He stepped closer to one of the doors leading off the corridor, only to find it locked.  
"And what are we going to do about them?" Yanick demanded.  
"We are taking a vacation," T'Parief said.  
"No, I'm trying to take a vacation," Yanick said, "You're still working!"  
T'Parief stopped, gave a sigh, and turned to Yanick.  
"Patricia," he said, "It is…heart-warming, that you want to spend time together. And I am pleased to call you my mate. But we are in a survival situation on an occupied planet! Our ability to get out of this situation depends on everything we do down here! I cannot take the chance that I might miss some vital clue that could save lives…including yours,"  
Yanick managed to look both touched and infuriated.  
"So, you're saying you won't take the time off to be with me!"  
"I am being with you right now," T'Parief said, heat entering his voice, "And if you truly wanted to be with me, you would be enjoying our time together, instead of being angry that you do not have every iota of my attention!"  
Yanick blinked.  
"So that's it, huh?" she demanded.  
T'Parief's head ticked, and for a moment, he thought his brain might explode. What part of what he was saying wasn't getting through to her? He WANTED to spend this time with her, he wanted them to be alone together…he just wanted to do his duty at the same time! How could she, a commissioned Starfleet officer, not understand that?  
Maybe it was time for a different approach. One that involved a bit more action and a bit less reason.  
T'Parief abruptly dropped his pack and started tearing off his shirt.  
"Hey, what are you….ULP!"  
Yanick barely had the chance to protest, then protesting was suddenly the furthest thing from her mind.

"So," Jeffery, Valtaic and Fifebee were huddled around a makeshift table in one corner of what a nearby sign proclaimed to be Hub Platform 5. Actually, it was written in Matrian, but since a Matrian font doesn't exist yet, translations will just have to do. Plus, of those present, only Fifebee could actually read Matrian, rendering the whole topic pretty much irrelevant anyway.  
"So," Jeffery was still saying, "First we were supposed to be cracking into the computers, then we dropped that, and we were supposed to be sending Fifebee to try to map out some of the locked doors. Now, we're dropping that too and starting to look for some kind of defence system?"  
"Precisely," Fifebee said.  
"But the best way to do that would be to crack into the computers!" Jeffery exclaimed, "Or to map the place out and see what we could find!"  
"Indeed," Valtaic agreed. He had some weird contraption in his hands and was fiddling around with it.  
"Does anybody else see the problem here?" Jeffery exclaimed, exasperated.  
"Your blood pressure?" Fifebee inquired.  
Jeffery's eye twitched.  
"Ah need a drink," he groaned.  
"And a bath," Valtaic said absently, "One can only image the damage our combined odours are doing for moral."  
"Luckily, we are not living in a carpeted area. I doubt we would ever get the smell out," Fifebee added.  
"Look, back to the defence thingy. The Queen wants to start some kind of rebellion against the Qu'Eh, and Chris is just lettin' her do it. So that leaves us…"  
"Opening doors," Valtaic said. The device in his hands gave a small 'click'.  
Jeffery smacked the thing out of his hands, electing an involuntary jolt from Valtaic's energy field.  
"Quit fiddlin' with that thing and help us with this problem!" Jeffery snapped.  
Valtaic folded his hands and gave Jeffery his full attention.  
"But-" Fifebee started.  
"Nay, Fifebee! I don't want the guy concentrating on somethin' that has nothing to do with our current problem!"  
As the two argued, Valtaic remained silent. He was beginning to understand why television had never become all that popular on his planet: when everybody was upfront and honest and when social irrelevancies were discarded, personal interaction really was extremely dull. These humans and their human-programmed AIs, however…  
Fifebee had just quoted some precedence from one of Silverado's previous mission where somebody had solved a problem by focusing on something completely irrelevant to the task at hand. Jeffery was countering with some business involving exploding toilets.  
Quickly becoming bored and desiring an end to the conflict, Valtaic stood and moved towards the locked door set into the wall nearby. Running his hand over the smooth surface, he located the appropriate point and carefully pulsed his field. There was a small 'click', identical to the one that had come from the device earlier. He then stood in front of the door, forced his metallic fingernails between the panels and forced the door open.  
Jeffery and Fifebee suddenly stopped talking, turned and faced him.  
"How'd ye do that?" Jeffery gasped.  
"I was trying to tell you," Fifebee said, "That the device he was holding was the mechanical locking mechanism from the door we blasted open earlier, and that he was attempting to ascertain if he could stimulate the command pathway required to open it,"  
Jeffery blinked a few times, jaw hanging open.  
"I have found a janitor's closet," Valtaic said proudly, stepping out of the open door, "Would either of you like a mop? Perhaps some matter-reclamation-unit purifier?"  
"So, wait," Jeffery said, "this means we can open any door in the place now?"  
Valtaic nodded.  
Jeffery threw back his head and gave a long, slightly insane sounding laugh.  
"Screw the defence systems!" he announced loudly, "To the lavatory!"  
They started walking quickly in the indicated direction. Every time Valtaic and Fifebee caught up with him, Jeffery started walking faster.  
"Do you have to go that badly?" Valtaic asked, "I am becoming fatigued,"  
"No, but Ah'm hoping that the thing Ah want more than anything else in the world is close to the head,"  
"And that would be?"  
"A shower!"

They managed better than a shower.  
Two levels above the hub, Fifebee suddenly pulled them off course, announcing that one of the signs in the corridor was pointing towards a fitness facility. Sure enough, once Valtaic had opened the big double doors, (and once Jeffery had located the light switch) they found themselves in a nice reception area, beyond which was a transparent wall looking into a dimly-lit gymnasium. It only took a moment of hunting before Jeffery found the locker rooms.  
He and Valtaic immediately jumped under the showers, not even bothering to disrobe. While Jeffery gurgled under the hot water, Valtaic was struggling not to let any energy out into his energy field, lest he zap the poor engineer. On Valtaic's planet, athletes didn't bother snapping each-other's butts with towels in the locker rooms, not when wet floors conducted current so well.  
Fifebee however, was holding her tricorder out.  
"This water did not come from the lake," she commented.  
"Fifebee, nobody cares!" Jeffery said, "Quick, go back down to the hub and tell everybody about the showers! We need them!"  
"But-"  
"NOW!"  
Sighing and fuming over (yet grateful for, in this case) the humanoid obsession with bodily comfort, she turned and started to retrace her steps.

Yanick and T'Parief were lying in the middle of the corridor, cloths strewn in all directions.  
"Hmmm…that was nice," Yanick purred, snuggling up to T'Parief's side.  
"I am pleased you think so," T'Parief rumbled.  
They lay there for a moment, relaxing in the warm glow that followed really good, romantic sex.  
Yanick suddenly sat up.  
"HEY!" She snapped, punching T'Parief in the side, "What's the big idea?"  
"Hmm?" T'Parief asked, barely noticing the impact.  
"You think that you can just starting making love to me in the middle of an argument and that I'm just going to just let the matter drop?" she demanded.  
"That was not-"  
"I'm not some kind of sex-starved little floozy that you can just win over with your masculine charms!" Yanick went on, grabbing up bits of her uniform and hurrying to get dressed.  
"Trish," T'Parief started.  
"NO!" Yanick snapped, "Don't you even start! Just…just…arghh!"  
She started stalking down the corridor. When she reached an intersection, she spun abruptly back.  
"I'll be back for supper!" she said, then marched off.  
The instant she was out of sight, T'Parief slammed one meaty fist into the corridor bulkhead, shattering a section of paneling.  
"Women," he snarled, grabbing his phaser. Yanick wanted some time alone? Fine!  
He had doors to open!

Yanick marched down one unfamiliar corridor after another. Stupid T'Parief! Stupid T'Parief and his stupid, stupid doors! What part of 'vacation' wasn't getting through his thick skull?  
She continued walking, her tricorder beeping softly from her hip. She wasn't going in any particular direction, and she knew the auto-mapping function of her tricorder would guide her back to the 'campsite'. She didn't care where she went, as long as it was away from HIM!  
Frustrated, she broke into a light jog, taking a left turn here, a right turn there. She knew she was getting pretty far from that main corridor they'd found, but she really didn't care.  
A left, a right, a forward…why did all the stupid display screens have to be dark? She really would have liked to see Days of Honour, or As the Starbase Turns. Anything but Xujo Han'zon, the interspecies mating specialist! She did NOT want to think about sex at the moment.  
Although, it had been really, really good.  
Yanick shook her head and slowed back down to a walk.  
Really good.  
"D'oh!" she seethed, "That man is so…so…hey, what's that?"  
Something bright and shiny farther down the corridor abruptly captured her attention. Forgetting for the moment about T'Parief, sex and conquered planets, she quickly walked towards it.  
Ahead of her, the corridor abruptly opened up into a large, open lounge-type area with high, two-deck ceilings. There were comfortable chairs scattered about, along with tables, interesting-looking light fixtures and even an empty bar. A pair of huge viewscreens hung behind the bar, making Yanick think of one of the sports bars that her brothers had loved so much. (She'd had to haul their drunken asses home more than once!)  
Moving towards the far wall, Yanick realized that the dark panels running from floor to ceiling were actually windows. Peering through them, she let out a gasp.  
She was looking out into a chamber that was several times larger than the hanger bays they'd found so far. It was definitely some kind of hanger or landing bay, but it was clearly meant for much larger ships. Over a dozen decks below her, she could see heavy cranes, unloading platforms and cargo haulers. The far end of the chamber appeared to be blocked by a wall of sand, or possibly rock. Directly across from her, a web-like scaffolding held what looked (even to Yanick's blond eye) like a half-finished Matrian cruiser. Not a little scout ship, patrol ship or attack ship, but a full-sized cruiser, the backbone of the Matrian fleet.  
"Ohhhh!" she held her fists down at her sides, shoulders hunched and arms trembling with rage, "T'Parief is going to LOVE this! DAMN THAT MAN!"  
"You won't have to tell him," a voice said behind her.  
Yanick spun around, but before she could see who'd spoken she felt something strike her head. Her world spun around, then faded.

Craigan stood over Yanick's body, a chunk of rock-like Baked Cherry with Prickle-Mouse Dessert clutched in one hand. He wasn't sure why these people would include foods obviously meant to be used as weapons in their ration-packs, but whatever. Tossing the food-item aside, he contemplated the woman he'd captured.  
He suspected she was one of the aliens. Her soft, masculine features, the slender build and her obsession with her relationship just didn't fit with the image of a Matrian woman. (Of course, Craigan had no idea that most of the races in the galaxy would laugh hysterically upon hearing Yanick described as 'masculine'.) She was attractive though, he mused as he started tying her to a chair. Something about the softness of her features just kept catching his attention.  
Craigan cursed to himself. A real Matrian man wouldn't be thinking things like that! A real Matrian man would assume she was a lesbian, then wonder if he'd ever meet a strong, handsome woman to spend the rest of his life with. Just another example of the changes the Matrian women had made to his gender! They'd changed his body, his intelligence, hell, even his personality before he'd even been born! He wasn't a man anymore: he was some strange blend of a man, and what the Matrian women thought a man should be.  
Tying Yanick's bonds with renewed vigour, he quickly finished. Settling into the chair across from her, he waited for her to wake up.

"Cargo storage," T'Parief mused, looking around the room he'd just broken into. Crates, barrels and canisters, labelled in squiggly Matrian letters, lined the walls. The only door leading into the room was a large over-sized pair leading into the corridor they'd found. Obviously, that corridor was bigger than the others because it was used for cargo transfer.  
Pleased with himself, T'Parief moved on to the next set of doors.  
He'd already phasered 5 sets of doors, leaving a trail of blackened, smoking panels in his wake. He'd found cargo storage, a meeting room of some kind, a security monitoring station (he believed) and two rooms full of workstations. Of course, they were all locked down. Still, it was progress!  
Moving into a cross corridor and burning through another set of doors he found a small lounge, or possibly a break room. A large screen dominated one wall, a large sofa dominated the other and one wall held several replicators. He wasn't sure if they'd work, but they were the first Matrian replicators they'd seen in the installation and food was always of concern. Yanick would no doubt want to try out both the replicators and the couch.  
Ah yes, Yanick. It had been a couple of hours since she'd stormed off. Perhaps he should return to their lovemaking arena/camp site and see if she'd returned.  
Hopefully, she'd be a bit calmer.

"LET ME GO YOU MONSTER!" Yanick screamed at the top of her lungs, "WHO THE F**K ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PIECES MY BOYFRIEND IS GOING TO BREAK YOU INTO WHEN HE FINDS OUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"  
Craigan winced.  
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said.  
"I'M GOING TO F**KING HURT YOU!" Yanick snapped.  
Craigan jumped back a bit. Oookay, clearly this woman wasn't as meek as he'd been expecting.  
Yanick started struggling against the ropes that were holding her down. Realizing she wasn't going anywhere, she took a closer look at her assailant.  
He was about 5'10, with a firm, athletic build. She knew this very well, as he was wearing only a tight-fitting pair of Starfleet-issue boxer briefs. His hair was a bright blond, his eyes a light (yet compelling) green. He wasn't one of the Silverado crewmembers though, and she was pretty sure she'd never seen him before in the Matrian camp.  
Oh!  
"You're the Matrian guy we found in stasis!" she exclaimed, "Craggy?"  
"Craigan," the man replied, "And weren't you just threatening me? Why are you so nice all of a sudden?"  
Yanick frowned.  
"Oops, I forgot. I'm supposed to be really angry with you," she looked thoughtful for a moment, the abruptly spit in his face.  
"Better?" she asked.  
Craigan sneered as he wiped his face with his hands.  
"Maybe we should talk about why I've taken you prisoner," he said.  
"It doesn't matter," Yanick shrugged.  
"Yes it does!" Craigan said.  
"Not really," Yanick said, "T'Parief's gonna escavate…evisnitate…uh, he's gonna do that thing where he rips you open and all your guts come spilling out, anyway. So it really doesn't matter why you kidnapped me."  
"Shut up," Craigan started pacing, looking thoughtful, "Where are we?"  
"We're in an underground installation on Matria Prime," Yanick said immediately, "It's locked, we don't know what it does, and it doesn't matter anyway cuz you're gonna die,"  
"It does too matter!" Craigan snapped, fists down at his sides, arms trembling with rage and shoulders hunched, doing an uncanny impression of Yanick, "I'm a member of the Male Rebellion and I will not be ignored when I am terrorising somebody!"  
"The what?" Yanick asked.  
"The Male Rebellion!" Craigan exclaimed, "The men fighting against the oppression of the Matrian Women! Fighting for an equal role in governing the Empire! Fighting against the women who treat us like objects instead of like the individuals we are!"  
Yanick looked blankly at him.  
"Just how long have you been in the Matrian Empire?" Craigan asked.  
"You mean the Matrian Republic?" Yanick asked, "Oh, we got here two years ago. You attacked us, we attacked you, stuff got blown up, all the women woke up and you all decided it was time to be one big happy society,"  
Craigan stared at her.  
"No!" he snapped, "The Men of Matria will not rest until we've overthrown the…" he suddenly trailed off.  
"How long was I in stasis?" he demanded.  
"Oh, in the tube thingy?" Yanick thought to herself. "I dunno. Fifebee knows that stuff more than I do. This place has been empty for a couple hundred years though, so a long time,"  
"A couple…hundred?" Craigan looked at her in shock. Then he abruptly shook his head.  
"No," he said firmly, "I don't believe you,"  
"Oh well," Yanick shrugged. Well, she tried to shrug, but the ropes prevented that, "Once T'Parief rips your head off, you're not gonna believe anything, really."  
"Stop saying that!"  
"Head-off! Head-off!" Yanick started chanting, "Bouncy-bouncy on the floor! Bouncy-bouncy out the door!"  
"SHUT UP!"

Stafford was running down the dim corridors, a sense of elation filling his soul.  
They'd found it! One of their biggest desires was being full-filled! He started pulling his uniform tunic off in anticipation, taking a left when he reached one of the small, makeshift 'street signs' Jeffery had scattered through several of the corridors above the transit hub. He slipped through a pair of open doors, dodged a reception desk and tried not to skid as he took a hard, hard right turn. He was just about there! He chucked his tunic on the floor and bend forward to untie his boots…  
Only to find himself face to…er…not-face with Jeffery.  
"AAAAGGGHHHHHH!" Stafford screamed, falling backward.  
"Yer late," Jeffery said, standing buck-naked in the fitness facility locker room, "There's a line already for the showers,"  
"Dammit Jeffery!" Stafford snapped, "Put some cloths on!"  
"What, ye mean those filthy things Ah've been wearing for close to two weeks?" Jeffery shook his head, "They're dryin',"  
Grabbing his tunic and boots off the floor, Stafford found his way deeper into the locker room. Sure enough, the shower area was filled with Silverado crewmen enjoying the hot water.  
"Water even, not sonics!" Stafford groaned, "Man, I guess being in a planet-side base does have advantages,"  
"Here," Jeffery said, gesturing to a row of sinks and a jug labelled in Matrian, "Ye can wash yer uniform while ye wait, Fifebee found this stuff in one of the janitor's closets,"  
Warily undressing, Stafford crammed his uniform into the sink and turned on the tap, wincing at the rancid smell that immediately engulfed him. Behind him, somebody started teasing Crewman Gibson for dropping the soap. The scruffy crewman rushed out of the showers, his face turning beet-red.  
"Man, Ah'm glad Jall's not here right now," Jeffery said, "He'd be enjoyin' this far too much,"  
"Hmm," Stafford grunted non-committally, really not wanting to think about his missing officers.  
"But y'know, with him and ye bein' such good pals and all, Ah guess ye wouldn't mind," Jeffery went on.  
"Jeffery, if you're trying to insinuate something between me and Jall, you probably shouldn't do it while we're butt-naked," Stafford sighed, "Unless…wait,"  
He took a sudden step further away.  
"Are you coming on to me?" he demanded, covering himself with his now soaking wet and sudsy uniform top, "We haven't been down here THAT long!"  
"What? Nay!" Jeffery snapped.  
"Oh, good," Stafford breathed a sigh of relief, "than what's with the 'me-and-Jall-buddy' talk?"  
"Ye don't seem overly concerned that he's in enemy hands," Jeffery said, dropping his subtle attempt at subtlety.  
"Jeffery, I'm really getting tired of this whole 'we're in trouble, you don't think I care enough, you give me shit' routine," Stafford said.  
"Ye don't think other people are wonderin'?" Jeffery demanded, "We've all got…friends, who were on the ship when it was captured."  
"And explain to me then how we're supposed to track them down without a ship, without a feasible mode of transportation and without bringing the Qu'Eh down on every Starfleet officer and civilian hiding in this place?" Stafford demanded. The line at the showers had dwindled, so Stafford threw his uniform onto a hook, jumped under one of the showerheads and let out a sigh of relief as the hot water hit his body. Of course, he nearly gagged when the water released a cloud of stench, but the hot water was still a relief.  
"Ah've heard that Queen Anselia wants to start a rebellion," Jeffery said.  
"Why are you in here?" Stafford demanded, "Didn't you already shower? Go put some cloths on and leave me in a bit of peace!"  
"Are ye telling me that after two weeks, ye wouldn't want more than one?" Jeffery said as he starting lathering up his hair.  
"Yeah, whatever," Stafford grumbled.  
There was silence for a few moments.  
"Where are the female showers?" Stafford abruptly asked.  
"Other side of the reception area," Jeffery said promptly, "And nay, we don't have access to the security camera,"  
"Damn,"

A short time later, Stafford and Jeffery were walking back to the Starfleet camp; their wet uniforms clinging to them like second skins.  
"There was a drying unit next to the showers, you know!" a female Lieutenant called as she passed them, giggling.  
"Aye, well, at least we'll win the wet T-shirt contest!" Jeffery called back.  
He turned back to Stafford.  
"So look, about the Matrian Rebellion," he started.  
"Look," Stafford rolled his eyes, "Anselia has this half-baked idea that she can somehow fight the Qu'Eh without giving away our position. I tried to convince her that we're better off waiting for Starfleet, but she won't listen. So she can do whatever she wants!"  
"But, ye know, if she's tryin' to do stuff, we should help her out! Y'know?" Jeffery said, "We might even find a way to rescue our people!"  
"Or we could wait for Admiral Tunney's relief fleet to get here and blow the Qu'Eh right back to hell," Stafford said, "And aren't you supposed to be looking for defence systems anyway?"  
"Ah can't believe that ye don't care enough about Wowryk, or Jall or any of those guys to at least try to go get them!"  
"Look, Jeffery," Stafford quickly looked around at the crewmen passing to and from the showers. He pulled Jeffery down the hall and through the open door to a small office. "Look, you know damned well that I'm worried as hell about them. But in case you've forgotten, we've got a lot more to worry about. The entire Matrian government is hiding out down here, and if the Qu'Eh get their hands on them, it's going to make it all the easier for them to establish their foothold here! We have to think of the bigger picture!"  
"That's f**king cold, man!" Jeffery said angrily.  
"I…I know." Stafford said. "But, look. The Qu'Eh were taking prisoners. They want control of Matria; they don't seem to care about Starfleet all that much. Wowryk and Jall are probably just killing time in some brig somewhere. They're not going to be happy, but they'll understand."  
"Like hell," Jeffery muttered, "Wowryk's going to kill you."  
"Yes," Stafford agreed with a sigh, "Yes she is."

Qu'Eh Invasion +10 Days:

"Rise and shine, ma'am,"  
Yanick opened her eyes and blinked, trying to clear her vision. Who would be calling her ma'am first thing in the morning? Was she at a resort or something? Did she fall asleep on the bridge? And why was she so sore?  
She became aware of the ropes binding her to the chair in which she sat. Oh. Right. Craigan had taken her hostage, and was now looking down at her with a concerned look on his face.  
So Yanick jerked her head forward at full speed, cracking her forehead against Craigan's face. He gave a yelp of surprise, then fell back onto the carpeted floor.  
"Oh yeah!" Yanick said, trying to pump her arms over her head, though the ropes prevented it. "Go Yanick! Go Yanick!"  
Shaking his head and spitting blood out of his mouth, Craigan climbed back to his feet.  
"What was that for?" he demanded.  
"Um, you kidnapped me!" Yanick snapped, "D'uh!"  
"Yeah, but I'm being a pretty good hostage-taker, aren't I?" Craigan demanded. "I haven't beaten you, or killed you, or cut off body parts, or raped you repeatedly, the way a woman would have!"  
"Well yeah, I'll give you…what?" Yanick frowned, "Women don't take hostages! And they don't rape them!"  
"Uh-huh," Craigain said, "I suppose that next you're gonna tell me that on your planet it's the men who do the hostage-taking and kidnapping and raping, while the women are just innocent victims?"  
"Well, a couple hundred years ago, maybe…" Yanick said thoughtfully, "But we outgrew that!"  
"Yeah, whatever," Craigan said. He reached down to untie her feet, only to get a kick to the head in return. It was a Yanick kick, so it wasn't very hard, but he still fell over.  
"Quit it!" he snapped, "I'm trying to untie you so we can get moving!"  
"I know," Yanick said, kicking at him again, "I'm making it harder for you. It's what hostages are supposed to do!"  
"Oh, you are such a bitch!" Craigan seethed.  
"And you are such a queer!" Yanick snapped back.  
Craigan looked blankly back at her.  
"A what?"  
"OOHHHHH!" Yanick seethed.

T'Parief awoke on the floor in the corridor.  
Still no sign of Yanick. Not a glimpse, not a sound. Nothing.  
OK, he was officially worried. They were in an empty facility with nothing but locked corridors and practically no chance of injury. But she should have been back by now. She must have become lost!  
Gathering the camp site and pulling out his tricorder, he started moving out in the direction she had gone. Now, the lack of hygiene was working to his advantage…the stench trail her unwashed body had left would be lingering in the corridors for the next week!  
He'd find her, it would only be a matter of time…

"I motion that we bring this meeting to order,"  
"Seconder?"  
"I second,"  
"Very well," Queen Anselia turned to a nearby woman with a padd and stylus, "You may begin the meeting minutes. Please note that the first meeting of the Matrian Organized Rebellion Against Invasion, Repression, Occupation and Suppression has been called to order,"  
"So noted," the secretary replied.  
Anselia turned to regard her 'War Council'. They'd setup their top-secret resistance meeting in the cargo hold of one of the Matrian scouts that had been parked in the above-ground hanger bay. The fact that the entire installation was buried underground just somehow didn't seem to make it feel secret enough; she'd wanted the familiarity of one of HER government's vessels, not some relic from the past. Her council so far consisted of her government cabinet, minus her Minister of Planetary Defence (Stafford).  
"First order of business," she read from her prepared agenda, "Let us define 'occupation' as 'the taking by force of lands, properties and assets from their rightful owners', wherein the 'rightful owners' are defined as those beings who came into possession of such assets legally and without theft, deception or other means that could be viewed as unscrupulous in the eyes of the law,"  
"Proposed!" cried the Minister of State, a male from the city of Matronus.  
"Seconded!" cried the young, blond Minister of Agriculture.  
"Noted," the Secretary replied.  
"Next," Anselia continued, "Let it be proposed that the occupation of Matria Prime by the Qu'Eh is unlawful, and against the wishes of the duly elected majority government,"  
"Under 20 seconds per motion!" one of the ministers whispered happily, "At this rate, the whole meeting will take less than 5 hours!"  
"Proposed!"  
"Seconded!"

T'Parief was growing concerned. He'd been tracking Yanick for nearly an hour now, and her trail had led him off the main corridor of their current level and into a maze of side corridors. He wasn't sure exactly where he was anymore, but judging by what he knew of the installation layout, he was fairly close to the outer walls.  
He continued sniffing, took a turn to the right and found himself in a slightly larger corridor. At the far end, he could see that it appeared to lead into a lounge. There were even windows looking out on something…but before he could get close enough to see what was there, he noticed a fork in the scent. Huh. Apparently, Yanick had been in the lounge, then had left. And she hadn't left alone. There was another scent…this one was….Matrian. Male. Now what would one of the Matrians be doing down here? Nobody had even opened up this level until he'd phasered the stairwell door. So whoever was with Yanick had either followed them down, or had been down here from the start. But why would somebody follow them down, only to chase after Yanick? And if it was one of the Matrians from the Matrian Camp, why was their trail leading deeper into unexplored territory instead of back towards the stairwell?  
That settled it. He turned and followed the scent back out towards the main corridor, totally unaware of the shiny shipyard he'd just missed.

"Take a left up ahead," Craigan ordered.  
Yanick, seeing the corridor junction, immediately turned right. Craigan grabbed her by the ropes and yanked her back on course.  
"I said left! What's wrong with you?"  
"You still think I'm gonna listen to you?" Yanick giggled, "Silly terrorist!"  
"Ugh, you are the WORST hostage EVER!" Craigan snapped.  
They walked in silence for a few moments.  
"Where are we going, anyway?" Yanick asked.  
"Out of here,"  
"Um, the exit's back that way," Yanick tried to point, but could only incline her head in the appropriate direction.  
"I have to throw off your alien-scum boyfriend on the way," Craigan snapped.  
"Hey, I'm an alien too, you know!"  
"Probably. But maybe you're just a Matrian lesbian trying to escape the wrath of the Male Rebellion you know is coming!"  
"You are SUCH an idiot!" Yanick giggled.  
"Move faster!" Craigan said, pushing Yanick ahead.  
"STOP!" he suddenly called.  
Yanick intended to keep walking, but Craigan evidently expected that, as he'd already twined his hand into her bindings. He yanked her to a halt next to a display screen mounted on the wall of a corridor junction. He started feeling around the side; there was a soft click as the screen activated.  
"This won't do you any good, they're all locked," Yanick said.  
"Maybe not on this level," Craigan said.  
But the screen showed only the standard 'locked' message.  
Craigan looked shrewdly at Yanick. He placed his hand on an unremarkable section of the display. There was a soft chime, then a voice.  
"Recognize Craigan, Lt K. Male Rebellion. Access Denied," came the standardized voice of a Matrian computer, "You are listed as a criminal. Please turn yourself in to the proper authorities."  
"Cool!" Yanick exclaimed, "How'd ya do that?"  
"Standard security procedure," Craigan said, "What I don't understand is why the system didn't bring security down on me the first time I tried it. I had such a great trap laid out for them!"  
"Uh, cuz this place is deserted?" Yanick ventured.  
Craigan grabbed one of Yanick's hands and unbound it, then slapped it against the same spot.  
"Um, I'm not a Matrian," Yanick said, "I won't be-"  
"Lieutenant Patricia Yanick, Starfleet, United Federation of Planets, Temporary Liason Officer for Minister of Planetary Defence Christopher Stafford," the computer announced, "Access denied."  
Yanick blinked.  
"Sweet!" she said, "That's cool!"  
"And you're a liar," Craigan said. He re-tied Yanick's hands and pushed her back into motion, "If this place has been empty for hundreds of years, just how exactly are you in the computer records?"  
"Magic?" Yanick shrugged.  
"Uh-huh,"  
Despite her outward bravado, Yanick was starting to get worried. Just how long would T'Parief wait before he came to get her? Would he be able to find her? Why the heck hadn't she left a trail of breadcrumbs or something?  
Speaking of which, she was getting pretty hungry.  
Craigan led her through a set of doors and up a narrow flight of stairs. The stairs widened into a broad walkway overlooking some sort of public area. The domed ceiling was painted a baby blue and several planters scattered around the place were filled with dirt, along with a few shrivelled remnants of plant life. She wasn't really sure what it was, nor did she really have time to think about it as Craigan hauled her across the walkway and towards a door in the other side.  
"HALT!"  
Yanick and Craigan both looked down to see T'Parief standing on the lower level, a good two stories down. He had a phaser pointed up at them, along with both his and Yanick's packs strapped to his back.  
"Let her go, Matrian!" he snarled.  
Craigan had already pulled Yanick around, using her as a human shield.  
"You want her, alien?" Craigan called, starting to drag Yanick towards the doorway, "Come and get her!"  
He had to duck as T'Parief's phaser beam singed past his head.  
"Hey!" Craigan snapped, "I'm using her as a shield! You're not supposed to shoot at me, or I'll kill her!"  
"Don't believe him, Pari!" Yanick called, starting to struggle, "He's a big wuss!"  
"Shut up!" Craigan snapped. He kicked Yanick's feet out from under her and dragged her through the door.  
He pulled her quickly down a short hallway, looking frantically to both sides. Suddenly, he seemed to find what he was looking for.  
"In here!"  
Yanick found herself shoved into the corner of what was probably a cargo area of some kind. She couldn't identify most of the equipment in the room, but Craigan obviously did. After taking a moment to re-tie her feet, he sprinted for an access ladder and quickly climbed up to a control booth.  
"What are you doing, silly?" Yanick asked.  
"Preparing a little surprise for your boyfriend," Craigan said.  
"Oh, he likes surprises," Yanick said, "But not enough to let you live, you…you…you bad person, you!"  
"I'll survive," Craigan said, his bare skin shining with sweat as he frantically tapped at the console, "Luckily for me, things down here don't seem to be as tightly secured as they are topside!"  
There was a thud as the door shook. Yanick was certain she heard a very T'Parief-sounding grunt.  
"Faster than I thought," Craigan muttered.  
The door shook again, one panel popping free of its guides and pushing into the cargo area. The next blow popped the other panel free. The final one sent both doors clattering to the deck, revealing T'Parief, a chunk of support pillar held in his arms like a battering ram.  
"Trish!" he called, dropping the pillar.  
"Watch out!"  
There was a sudden hum, then four pale blue tractor beams speared out of hidden emitters, catching T'Parief on all sides and hoisting him up into the air. The reptile let out a surprised shout of rage and flailed around briefly before realizing the futility of such an action.  
"HEY!" Yanick shouted, "What did you do that for?"  
"He was going to kill me," Craigan said, returning to the deck, "What, did you think I was just going to sit back and let him open me up like a Feminists-Day fhrant roast?"  
"That's what his enemies usually do," Yanick said accusingly, "You let him go right now!"  
"No!"  
"YES!"  
"NO!"  
"Excuse me," T'Parief called from the ceiling. Yanick and Craigan ignored him, continuing to argue.  
"RRRAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!"  
T'Parief had opened his jaws wide and let out a roar the likes of which were rarely heard outside of a Jurassic Park movie.  
"What do you want?" he demanded, once he had Craigan's attention.  
"I want to get out of here so I can rejoin the Male Rebellion," Craigan said simply, "Your girlfriend is the leverage I need to get out!"  
T'Parief looked to Yanick.  
"Did you not tell this filth that there is no Male Rebellion, that Matria has been invaded by the Qu'Eh and that outside of this facility he will simply die in the harsh desert?"  
"Yeah, I told him, honey," Yanick said, "He's not very bright!"  
Craigan gave Yanick a dark look.  
"You never mentioned the part about the desert!" he accused her.  
"Did I forget that?" Yanick asked innocently.  
"YES!"  
"Oh. Well, there's this desert, see, and-"  
"I'm still not listening to you!" Craigan said. He grabbed Yanick by her bonds and started leading her to the door. He turned and called back to T'Parief.  
"By the way, I've programmed the tractor beams to rip you apart about 5 minutes from now," he said, "I really didn't want to be around when it happened. Bye!"  
"YOU BASTARD!" Yanick shrieked, struggling anew as Craigan hauled her out of the room.  
T'Parief hung helplessly from his position near the ceiling.  
This was potentially bad.

Stafford climbed the steps to the command deck of the command complex, once again trying very hard not to look at the drop beneath him.  
Valtaic and Jeffery were standing by the central display table, a Federation-style viewscreen setup in front of them. The command center had become littered with pieces of Federation technology that had been beamed down from Silverado during the evacuation. Crewman Gibson sat at one of the portable computers that had been setup and over a comm-link they could hear Fifebee's voice.  
"I have reached Level 32 via staircase A," she reported, "I am again in a hexagonal corridor, however the outer perimeter now consists of windows rather than walls. I suspect the tower has tapered,"  
"Tapered tower, huh-huh," Gibson snickered, "Sort of like my-"  
"No, it is NOT like your genitalia!" Fifebee snapped, "Unlike your 'tower', this one is extremely large and has never had to report to Sickbay for treatment!"  
Jeffery snickered as Gibson turned a very deep red.  
"Now, if you are ready to actually get back to work, the first door proceeding in a clockwise direction contains a conference room. The second appears to be a laboratory, possibly involving high-energy physics."  
As Fifebee continued reporting her explorations, Gibson keyed her findings into the terminal. A map of the complex was slowly forming on the display screen.  
"What have you learned?" Stafford asked, taking a moment to again luxuriate in the fact that he was warm, dry and CLEAN.  
"Offices, lavatories, laboratories, equipment rooms, storage rooms," Jeffery shrugged, "Lots of locked rooms that really don't need to be locked,"  
"As usual, Mr. Jeffery is taking a very human-centric approach, Valtaic sniffed, "If the Matrians sealed those areas, they probably had a good reason for doing so,"  
"Have you learned anything we didn't already know?" Stafford asked tiredly.  
"Oh, check this out!" Jeffery reached down into the guts of the central table. There was a click, then the holographic image of Matria Prime vanished. He grabbed a cable from one of the Federation terminals and plugged it in with another click. He tapped a button, then a hologram of a broad, gray disc hovered in mid air.  
"Ah've been putting together this map," he said.  
Stafford took a closer look. The disc had 12 entry points evenly spaced along the outer edge…the hangers? A ring of enclosed space with some rooms and corridors stencilled in, then a massive chamber with six tram routes spanning over a dark lake and finally a central island with several towers stretching to a rocky ceiling. Jeffery manipulated the image, tilting the disc on its side and giving a bird's-eye view of the facility.  
"So that's what this place looks like, huh? It sorta looks like what you get when you slice an orange in half," Stafford observed. He frowned, "Hey, did you ever figure out where that sensor feed was coming from?"  
With another series of clicks, Jeffery re-connected the image of Matria Prime, the Qu'Eh cruisers still hovering menacingly over Matronus.  
"Passive sensor feed from Matrian Defence HQ, I think," Jeffery shrugged, "Possibly a computer linkup, but it must be pretty well-hidden on the other end. I put a data monitor on it, but so far all it's done is receive sensor data,"  
There was a soft beeping from one of the terminals at the far side of the command deck.  
"How's that for timing?" Valtaic observed.  
"What is it?"  
"It's encrypted is what it is," Jeffery said after a few moments of tapping at the controls, "But someone or something in the facility sent a request to Defence HQ, and received a reply." The terminal beeped again. "Make that two requests and two replies."  
"Would that give away our position?" Stafford asked urgently.  
"Did it have anything to do with you connecting and disconnecting the feed?" Valtaic said pointedly.  
"Ah doubt it," Jeffery said quickly, "Ah mean, Ah can't actually input any data into the network, Ah can just read what it's doin',"  
"But you just-"  
"Connected a signal to a holographic generator," Jeffery said, "Bein' able to watch 'Warrior Guy' on the big screen doesn't exactly mean I have computer control."  
"Oh," Stafford looked disappointed.  
"It was possibly an automated system," Valtiac conceded reluctantly, "A sort of keep-alive signal, or some such,"  
"By the way, did ye bring any holo-chips of 'Warrior Guy'?" Jeffery asked.  
"I left them in my office in Matronus," Stafford shrugged.  
"Shit," Jeffery mused.  
"Hey, you guys wanna go see how Anselia's rebellion plans are coming along?" Stafford asked.  
"You believe she would have come up with a useful plan of action already?" Valtaic asked, cocking his head.  
"No, not really," Stafford shook his head, "I just want to see if the mud-slinging has started yet,"  
"I believe I will assist Fifebee and Sylvia with their mapping of the facility," Valtaic sniffed.  
"Ah'll come," Jeffery said, "Noel once said that Matrian politics were the dullest thing she'd even seen."  
"Um, and that makes you want to see them?"  
"Hey, people in the 20th Century went to see the 'Worlds Biggest Ball of Twine', didn't they?

T'Parief hung suspended by the tractor beams, wondering just how he was going to get out of this one.  
He'd tried pushing off the ceiling in an effort to break free of the beams, but they just seemed to lock right back onto him again. He could move his limbs relatively freely, for the moment. Until the beams increased in strength and ripped his body apart.  
He latched his claws into the ceiling and started pulling himself towards one of the emitters. He was still a meter away when the pull of the other three beams became too strong for him to resist. With a yelp, he was yanked back to his initial position.  
Two minutes.  
Hanging in mid air, he noticed that the strap on Yanick's backpack had split during his sideways fall. He yanked it off and was about to drop it to the deck when it passed directly through one of the beams and was pulled out of his hands. It bounced against the emitter, then dropped to the deck with a crash.  
Hmmm.  
He grabbed his phaser and quickly set it to overload.  
And just as quickly shut if off. That was f**king stupid! What was he going to shoot the terrorist with if he didn't have his phaser? What if he had to burn open another door?  
He rummaged around in his own pack, pulling out the cast-duranium skillet he'd packed. With a back-hand swing well practiced in Silverado's gym, he sent it speeding along the path of the one beam. The skillet smashed into the tractor emitter, which promptly died in a shower of sparks. His hunting knife dispatched the second.  
With only 30 seconds left and no more heavy metal objects to throw, T'Parief dug his claws back into the ceiling and started pulling himself towards one of the two remaining emitters. Fighting only one beam, he was able to pull himself within arms reached of the emitter.  
0 seconds.  
Both beams strengthened, pulling at his body. The closer beam had latched onto his head, the other onto his tail. The pain was intense as his entire body was stretched out, arms and legs clutching the ceiling.  
With a grunt of effort, he stabbed his claws right into the emitter. There was a shower of sparks, then the pull on his head abruptly vanished. T'Parief found himself flying across the room, striking the final emitter butt-first with a loud CRACK! The last emitter sparked and died, dropping him to the floor in a heap.  
T'Parief pulled himself painfully to his feet, certain he'd broken at least three bones in his tail. No matter. Yanick had to be saved!  
Quickly gathering up his gear, he resumed his mission.

Jeffery and Stafford were just stepping out of the turbolift above the hub when T'Parief's voice came through their comm-badges.  
"T'Parief to all Starfleet personnel. Yanick has been kidnapped by the escaped Matrian. He is attempting to leave the facility."  
"Stafford to T'Parief," Stafford hit his badge and broke into a jog, "We're on our way. Where are you? When did this happen?"  
"I am five levels below the Matrian hanger, approximately 45 degrees around the outer rim," T'Parief's voice came back immediately, "Yanick disappeared last night,"  
"And you're only reporting this NOW?"  
"At first, I had thought it simply a Yanick temper tantrum," T'Parief replied, sounding almost conversational, "However, by this morning, I had grown concerned,"  
"Then why didn't you tell us THEN?"  
"I had expected to rectify the situation quickly,"  
Stafford and Jeffery had reached the transit hub and were navigating towards the nearest tram. Stafford gave Jeffery a confused look.  
"Then why are you telling us NOW?"  
"Because our kidnapper nearly succeeded in having me torn limb from limb," T'Parief said calmly, "now, if you will excuse me, I must catch him and return the favour. T'Parief out."  
As the tram eased away from the platform, Stafford sighed.  
"I think we're going to have to have another discussion about non-fatal security measures," he said.  
"Did the last two dozen conversations help?" Jeffery asked.  
"When you put it that way, it sounds so negative!"

"So, how do you even know where the exit is, anyway?" Yanick asked, as Craigan pushed her up the stairs leading to the 'ground level', the level that served as the lowest deck for the dozen hanger bays that had been discovered so far.  
"I have had over a week to spy on you people," Craigan said, "I just haven't been able to get past your guards in the exit bay!"  
"You kidnapped me to use me as leverage?" Yanick asked, "Oh, you silly boy! Somebody's going to kill you!"  
"Shut up!"  
"It's probably going to be T'Parief," Yanick went on as Craigan dragged her back out into the corridor and pushed her into a run towards the exit hanger, "But I think Chris might get pretty pissed if he sees how mean you're being to me."  
"Nobody's going to kill me before I kill you!" Craigan snapped.  
"Uh-huh,"

Stafford and Jeffery arrived, out of breath, at the exit hanger.  
Piles of supplies were still scattered across the lower level, and the Matrian shuttles along with the Starfleet shuttles and runabouts were still parked on the platforms. Several security officers had established defensive position near the personnel airlocks, and at least three very nasty looking photon mortars were pointed at the massive hanger door.  
"Turn that stuff around!" Stafford called out, running out of breath, "Hostage situation! Yanick! Naked ninja!"  
One of the security officers, an incredibly young looking, red-headed ensign ran up to Stafford.  
"SIR!" he cried at the top of his lungs, "COMMANDER T'PARIEF HAS INFORMED US OF THE SITUATION! WE ARE READY TO RESPOND TO ORDERS, SIR!"  
"Oh, YOU again," Stafford groaned, trying to clean out his ringing ears with one finger, "Didn't you used to be one of Jeffery's engineers? I thought I'd transferred you off the ship a year ago,"  
"SIR! I WAS TRANSFERRED BACK, SIR!"  
"Can't imagine why," Jeffery muttered.  
"Look, just make sure he doesn't get out of here!" Stafford snapped, "And…hey! Is anybody guarding those shuttles?"  
"SIR! WE LOCKED THEM UNDER A SECURE PASSWORD, SIR! SOMETHING NOBODY WOULD EVER GUESS, SIR!"  
"It's not 'Password', is it?" Jeffery asked.  
"Um," the officer said, suddenly very quiet.  
"It's 'Password', isn't it?" Stafford groaned, "For the love of…get up there and change it to something harder than that!"

"Let us move on to point 63 on today's agenda," Anselia said, looking around the cargo bay at her inner cabinet, "The creation of an armed force with which to resist the Qu'Eh,"  
"Isn't that what Starfleet is for?" one of her governor's asked.  
"Weren't you the one saying that we were giving Starfleet too much discretionary power on our home soil?" one of the females shot back at the haughty-looking man.  
"Well, yes, but-"  
"Starfleet has their own plans for the Qu'Eh," Anselia cut it, "May I remind the Council that the purpose of this Rebellion is to encourage independent, Matrian action,"  
She turned to the Secretary.  
"Please log that reminder,"  
"Logged, your Highness,"  
"Clearly the men are best suited to armed conflict," one of the women said, "They still have the vestiges of military training from before the Reawakening-"  
"Oh, you BITCH, you did NOT just say that!" a blond man cried out.  
"Well, I didn't mean it to be sexist," the woman tried to say, but the men were already in an uproar.  
"Women have the same responsibility!"  
"Equal Membership Act for the Matrian Defence Force was passed-"  
"You are such a BITCH!"  
Anselia sighed. Maybe she should just sic her cabinet on the Qu'Eh?

"Did you want to be cremated or buried?" Yanick was asking.  
"Shut up! By the Goddess, I should have taped your mouth shut!" Craigan snapped.  
"Silly boy! Then you wouldn't have had anybody to talk to!" Yanick giggled.  
"Exactly!"  
Craigan was approaching an upper-level entrance to the exposed docking bay. His plan was to steal one of the ships there, then start blasting people in the docking bay until they opened the hanger door. He was still dragging Yanick along, despite getting very tired of her chattering (and having to constantly yank her in the right direction), to help him get past any guards.  
He tapped the control on the corridor door, one of the ones that was actually responding, and slipped into the bay. He pulled Yanick along a walkway and onto the nearest landing platform. A single Matrian scout ship sat on the center of the platform, surrounded by crates and supplies. On the staggered platforms across from theirs they could see a Federation runabout below and a pair of Senousian fighters above. The sounds of shouted orders drifted up from the lowest level. As Craigan dragged her across the deck towards the ship, Yanick peeked over the railing. She could see Stafford and Jeffery snapping orders to T'Parief's security forces, which were scrambling around like ants.  
"HEEEYYY!" Yanick screamed, "WE'RE UP HERE!"  
Her voice was cut off as Cragain yanked her back and slapped a hand over her mouth.  
"STUPID BITCH!" he cried out, "What the hell did you do that for?"  
Yanick, unable to speak, still managed to give him a look that said 'Well DUH, you kidnapped me, dumbass!'  
"Yes, OK, very well. I suppose I should have expected that," Craigan sighed, releasing her mouth, "Let's just steal this ship already!"

"YANICK!" Stafford called, spinning around and trying to track down the source of the scream. He could see the staggered half-decks above him, but had no idea which one held his missing crewman. Er, woman.  
"Stafford to T'Parief? Are you almost here?"  
"Yes." T'Parief's voice came from directly behind Stafford, causing him to jump and spin around like he'd been poked.  
"He's got her on one of the upper levels!" Stafford cried, "Go get her!"  
T'Parief was already charging towards the doors.

"Can we PLEASE get back to resolution #63!" Anselia declared, "If we want some kind of armed rebellion, and with the MDF under Qu'Eh control, we must simply approve the creation of an armed force! We can work out the details LATER!"  
"Who would lead this force?" the blond Minister of State demanded, "Starfleet has their own plans!"  
"Admiral Verithi is the head of our Defence Force," the Minister of Agriculture reminded them.  
"Admiral Verithi stayed behind to help Laurette protect our citizens during this invasion!" the Minister of State snapped.  
"Oh. Well, that was right brave of her, wasn't it?"  
There was a sharp bang on the door. Everybody's heads turned towards the hatch.  
"Steward?" Anselia called. Nobody replied.  
"STEWARD!"  
"Wha?" the young Matrian functionary had dozed off during the proceedings. Suddenly awakening to find the entire War Council glaring at her, she coloured, then went to open the door.  
"Yes?" she asked, "There is a council meeting in progress, can you come back-URK!"  
She flew back into the cargo hold, helped by a sharp shove from Craigan.  
"I'm hijacking this ship!" he declared, pointing his stolen weapon at them, his other arm wrapped around Yanick's neck.  
"Uh, can you hit the hatch close button?" he asked Yanick out of the corner of his mouth.  
"Go f**k yourself," Yanick said pleasantly.  
"Fine!" Craigan snapped. He back up against, the wall, trying to hit the door panel with his left butt cheek. After about three tries, the hatch sealed itself.  
"Now, I'm hijacking this ship!" he declared loudly, "I want everybody off!"  
"You just sealed the door," King Hector pointed out.  
"I...oh," Craigan sighed, "Who the fenth are you, anyway?"  
"I," Hector said, straightening in his seat, "am Hektor, King of Matrian Republic. This is Queen Anselia, and our War Council of Ministers,"  
Craigan looked shocked.  
"The Matrian Empire doesn't have a king!" he snapped.  
"Who do you think you are?" the Minister of State asked sassily, pointing his fingers at Craigan.  
"I am a member of the Male Rebellion, you traitor!" Craigan snapped.  
"The what?"  
"He's the frozen guy we found in the lab," Yanick explained, "He's been down here for like 200 years, he doesn't believe me when I tell him that there is no Male Rebellion and he, like, wants to escape and rejoin the Male Rebellion, whatever that was,"  
"You fought against the women in the Gendar Wars?" the Minister of State asked, looking at Craigan with new interest.  
"Gender Wars?" Craigan looked confused, "I'm fighting against female oppression, but it hasn't turned into a war, yet. But you say there's a full-out Gender War going on now?"  
"THE GENDAR WARS ARE OVER!" the council shouted as one. (At least, Anselia considered, they were agreeing on something this time.)  
Craigan wavered.  
"We are the leaders of the new Matrian Republic," Anselia said, rising to her feet, "The days of the Gender Wars and female oppression are over. Our people face a new threat: the Qu'Eh. They have invaded our space, killed our people-"  
"They wrecked our ship and kidnapped members of our crew!" Yanick interrupted.  
"Yes, that too,"  
"She claims to be an alien," Craigain said, gesturing towards Yanick with his weapon.  
"Yes," Anselia said, "her people-"  
"Her people," the Minister of State said, pointing a finger at Yanick, "Freed the Matrian men from the brainwashing shackles of female oppression!"  
"We apologized for that," one of the female councillors said indignantly.  
Craigan was looking unsure of himself.  
"I TOLD you so!" Yanick snapped.  
There was a CLANG as something (T'Parief) struck the outer hull of the ship.  
"Surrender," Yanick urged him, "You're trying to fight a battle that ended years ago!"  
"Your people still need you," King Hektor said, "It would be unfortunate if the lizard were to rip you to pieces."  
"And he will!" Yanick said.  
There was another CLANG, this time a visible dent appeared in the hatch.  
Craigan lowered his weapon.  
"Very well" he said.

Outside, T'Parief had seized a solid-looking cargo canister and was slamming it into the side of the Matrian ship. He was just about to swing again when the hatch slid open. Dropping the canister, T'Parief dove into the ship, his eyes seeking then locking on to his target.  
"Pari! NO!" Yanick cried.  
Her objection registered just in time for T'Parief to retract his claws. The impact, however, still sent Craigan flying into the opposite wall, where he landed in a heap.  
T'Parief, his blood still pumping, stood framed by the doorway.  
"We had successfully negotiated his surrender," Anselia said, looking down at the unconscious Matrian.  
"Pity," T'Parief growled, the sight of his bared fangs sending the War Council a good step back, "I am hungry,"

"Captain's Log, Stardate...well, we're over two weeks into the Qu'Eh invasion, OK?"

Lieutenant Yanick has been successfully rescued from her captor. I'm happy to say we can bring that little chapter to a close. Craigan has been offered a position with the Matrian Rebellion, which works out well for us because it gets him out of our hair and gives the Matrians another headache to deal with. Personally, from what I hear about the way he handled Yanick's kidnapping, I really don't think putting him charge of a fighting force is all that good an idea. But whatever. Anselia can do what she wants.  
In related news, we've succeeded in turning this place into a pretty decent hiding spot. We've got showers, replicators and laundry facilities running, and with Valtaic disabling the mechanical and computerized door locks, we've been able to spread out into some proper living quarters. We're still cut off from all the primary systems, but it's a start.  
Now, if we could just find the defence systems Anselia is convinced this place has, we'd all be happy.

Stafford was seated in a comfortable chair, at a proper table, in a cafeteria that Fifebee had found about 10 levels below the command complex. The room was shaped like a crooked L, with the two outer walls being comprised of windows that looked out into the blackness of the cavern. Several round tables were scattered around the room, with a replicator and food preparation center setup in the inner corner of the L. Fifebee had found the room two days ago, and the decision to begin eating the replicated Matrian food had been made the instant it was discovered that the replicators were functioning.  
"I have nae idea whot this is," Jeffery said, eying his plate of purplish meat with some kind of bright pink side dish, "But it really beats 'Spaghetti and Gagh-balls',"  
"That just sounds SO nasty," Yanick shuddered, sitting next to him. T'Parief was already digging into his raw Matrian steak, and Valtaic was picking daintily as some sort of stew. Stafford and Sylvia sat down, the former with a tray of food and the latter with a padd.  
"You realize," Valtaic said, "With the condition of the restaurants and replication programs on the surface, we are probably the first people to eat properly prepared, genuine Matrian cuisine in over a century,"  
"Wha-ever," Jeffery muttered through a mouthful of pink stuff.  
"So you haven't been seeing Anselia lately?" Sylvia was asking.  
"Nope," Stafford shrugged, "Ever since they found that Craigan guy, she's been spending every waking minute with him, going over strategy and asking about life in the Old Matrian Empire."  
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie," Sylvia said, patting his hand.  
"Whatever," Stafford shrugged, "Sex with her was getting boring anyway,"  
Syliva smacked him. Jeffery laughed, while Yanick kicked him under the table.  
"At least," Fifebee said, "We have the chance to greatly expand our understanding of Matrian culture. That was our original mission, was it not?"  
"Yup," Stafford agreed, "We're making progress"  
"Now we need only rescue our crewmates, and all will be well," Valtaic said optimistically.  
"And overthrow a hostile invasion force," T'Parief added.  
"And figure out whot the Matrians are hidin' in this place," Jeffery added.  
"And figure out what's going on with that shipyard out there," Yanick said.  
T'Parief's head swung around.  
"SHIPYARD?"  
"Oops," Yanick said in a small voice.  
"There's a SHIPYARD?" Stafford demanded.  
"A resource of that sort of tactical significance and YOU DIDN"T THINK TO TELL ME!" T'Parief roared.  
The table immediately broke into accusations, demands, complains and general chaos as this new revelation was debated.  
In other words, it was a pretty standard Silverado staff gathering.  
Sitting back in her seat, Sylvia smiled. Sure, they were stranded underground and some of their crewmates were missing, but it was good to see that the crew had managed to overcome some of the obstacles that were standing in their way.

Starbase 45: One day after the Qu'Eh invasion of Matria Prime.

Admiral Tunney was sitting in his office, his display screen active.  
"I'm sorry," Fleet Admiral Ra'al was saying, "But the Enterprise simply isn't available. It's summer on Dyseth V right now, and if Picard doesn't get to do his archaeological study on the Dys this season, he's going to have to wait another year."  
"Fleet Admiral, to hell with the Dys!" Tunney exclaimed, "We have an entire civilization waiting for us to help them!"  
"A civilization that never should have been admitted into the Federation in the first place," Ra'al sniffed.  
"Well they were, and that means we have certain obligations!"  
"Of course," Ra'al agreed, "However, I'm sure that with the ships currently under your command, you can assemble a perfectly adequate task force,"  
"I don't have any Sovereign-class ships under my command!" Tunney reminded her.  
"You are slated to receive the USS Borden, a Sovereign-class vessel," Ra'al said.  
"Another Operation Salvage ship that won't be out of Spacedock for another three months!" Tunney objected.  
"I'm confident you will come up with something," Ra'al said coolly, "Fleet HQ out,"  
The line went dead.  
Tunney blew out a breath. As much as he disliked Stafford, Silverado and all the various headaches they'd caused him, they were still under his command. More importantly, the death of an entire crew would result in far too much paperwork to fill out.  
Somehow, he had to get a fleet out to Matria Prime!

End


	4. Resistance to Change

Star Traks: Silverado

5.4 Resistance to Change

USS Silverado

Invasion of Matria Prime +8 Days

Ensign Travis Pye had just finished getting his little area all setup. He'd snagged a corner of the chilly shuttlebay and proceeded to setup a cot, arranged his little bundle of salvaged cloths and even propped up a padd he'd managed to get his hands on, right where he could watch the two or three videos stored on it from the comfort of his cot. Around him, with much grumbling, the other captured crewmembers were doing the same. What else was there to do?  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks and Wowryk appeared right above Pye's cot, falling about half a foot and knocking it on its side.  
"What the-" Wowryk managed to get out, right before falling to the deck.  
"Oh my," Supervisor Yugreth said into Pye's ear, via his implant, "That is NOT proper transport quality!"  
There was another shimmer, and a Qu'Eh datapad appeared directly over Pye's head, catching him by surprise.  
"Please have Dr. Wowryk fill this out," Yugreth said, "I'll send another for you, as well,"  
"No, wait-" Pye cringled, the second padd hitting his hands as they shielded his head.  
He glanced at one padd as he handed the other to Wowryk.  
"What's this?" she asked, "'Quality of Transport' form?"  
"Only your feedback can help us improve the quality of our service," Yugreth said.  
"What if I don't want to improve the quality of your service?" Wowryk asked.  
"Yeah!" Pye joined in, "What if we just don't give a damn?"  
"Then you can fill out a 'Quality of Death and/or Maiming' form," Yugreth said sweetly.  
Wowryk and Pye exchanged a glance.  
"In a minute," Wowryk said, running off to find Jall.

She found him easily enough…the shuttlebay really wasn't that big. He was seated in the remains of the control booth, the Qu'Eh transceiver sitting on the blown-out tractor beam control console. Up here, the din of 100 odd crewmembers trying to setup living space in the bay was muted.  
"I think I'm going to make this my office," Jall mused, his eyes gazing out into the shuttlebay while his hands tapped at the Qu'Eh console, "I simply MUST do something about these bland colours though…maybe repaint with a nice mauve?"  
"Jall-"  
Jall suddenly cocked his head, presumably listening to his implant.  
"Hmm," he said, "According to today's supervisor, mauve doesn't meet Qu'Eh interior design quality guidelines. Shows what they know about good taste,"  
"Jall, the Qu'Eh know the fleet's not coming," Wowryk said.  
"I know," Jall said.  
"YOU KNOW?" Wowryk snapped, "Then why the hell did you let them find out! This is bad! I can't believe that we'd be abandoned like this!"  
"I only found out because Yugreth started snickering in my ear when I read Tunney's message," Jall said. He snapped his fingers, "I wonder if there's a quality form I can fill out on that? I mean, she sorta betrayed information to a captive, right?"  
That time, Wowryk could hear the cursing coming from Jall's implant as a quality form padd materialized on the console.  
"Ohh, excellent!" Jall clapped his hands, then picked up the form. "Let's see…Was she polite and courteous. Well, OK, I kinda gotta give her that. Informative? Yes. Helpful? Not really. Where's the section on betraying company information? Oh, here it is. Zero out of five! Take that, bitch!"  
"We have a problem!" Wowryk snapped, slapping the padd out of his hands. It skittered across the deck, "Everything we did was with the assumption that help was coming! Stafford, the-"  
"The what, doctor?" Jall inturrpted.  
Oh. Right. The super-secret underground Matrian installation that was currently serving as a hideout for the legitimate Matrian government and the non-captured Silverado crew. Mentioning that would be bad.  
"We'll figure something out, doc," Jall said, "Now, why don't you go spell-check the message I was about to send while I finish figuring out how to give Yugreth the worse possible quality score ever?"  
Spell check? What was she, a glorified secretary?  
"What are we telling the crew?" Wowryk demanded.  
"Ohhh, there's an interesting question, Madam First Officer," Jall said slowly, "And just what do you think our little peons would say if we told them no help was coming? And before you answer, try to remember that you are, in fact, still my vile bitch of a first officer."  
"Being a bitch isn't against the Bible," Wowryk sniffed, "Unlike YOU!"  
"Actually, it is," Jall said, picking up the Qu'Eh padd, "Something about 'love they neighbour'?"  
"Why do people always have to bring that part up?" Wowryk sighed.  
Pushing past Jall's obvious obnoxiousness, she stopped to consider his point, once again finding herself thinking in terms of motivation and strategy instead of simply using the 'healing good, hurting bad' mentality that usually kicked in during a crisis. They were alone, barely 100 of them, in enemy-occupied territory, on a ship that couldn't support them long-term and with no reinforcements on the way. How did that make her feel?"  
"I don't like thinking like a first officer," she said finally, taking a seat next to Jall.  
"I'm guessing then that you've arrived at the same conclusion as I have," he said.  
He reached out to take her hand. She started to jerk it back, then remembered what he'd done earlier. Sure enough, he started writing on the back of her hand, drawing out letters with his fingertips.  
WE CAN'T AFFORD TO HAVE THE CREW LOSE FAITH. BESIDES, I THINK OUR CHANCES OF GETTING HELP ARE BETTER THAN P'TAREK AND THE REST OF THOSE BASTARDS THINK. he wrote.  
Her curiosity now piqued, Wowryk pulled the Qu'Eh transceiver over to spell-check Jall's message. She saw immediately why he'd wanted help; it looked like he'd been typing it with his eyes closed. She glanced at his implant, remembering the camera. Of course, after Yugreth had given away the fact that she could see what he was seeing, he'd looked away from the screen. On the other hand, if the Qu'Eh had rigged the thing, they'd know what the message said anyway. On the other other hand, the seemed to prefer to rely on the damned implants…  
She quickly read the message. Not surprisingly, it was a request for help. Somewhat more surprising was the destination address.  
"Are you sure you want to send this?" she asked, "I can't see how anybody can help us if the Fleet Admiral's made up her mind already,"  
"Just send it," Jall said, "And have a bit of faith in me,"

Lieutenant Rengs and Ensign Simmons lay pressed flat against a cold, brick wall, panting for breath.  
After the beer-fight escape, the thousand or so Matrian soldiers held captive had been intent on one thing: scattering as fast and as far as possible before the Qu'Eh could react. Stern and Glotenfish had come up with a plan prior to the escape. Basically, everybody would split up, but certain people would try meeting at pre-arranged places and times in order to keep information moving. It was a hastily setup system, but hopefully they could do…something.  
Of course, that wasn't doing Rengs or Simmons much good at the moment. The two officers had been cut off from the rest of the Hazardous Team when a group of Qu'Eh soldiers patrolling the streets has spotted them. Being unarmed (except for a couple of beer cups), they'd simply scattered, running down streets and through the lobbies of nearby buildings. Being near the outskirts of Matronus, the neighbourhood consisted of lots of smaller buildings, giving them plenty of alleys to get lost in, but really nowhere to go. The ultimate plan was to rendez-vouz near downtown Matronus, in the vast underground cavern that had held the city's female population during the rebuilding.  
At the moment though, the gleaming towers of downtown Matronus seemed very far away.  
"I really wish I had a grenade right now?" Simmons whined.  
"And what by the Prophets would you do with it?" Rengs asked, annoyed.  
"Blow something up, what do you think!?"  
Ignoring him, Rengs carefully looked out onto the street. There was no sign of the Qu'Eh patrol that had been pursuing them. They were in a fairly nice neighbourhood, with the standard collection of homes and businesses. More businesses at this point, actually.  
"We need to ditch these uniforms," Rengs said.  
"No problem," Simmons shrugged, "there's a clothing store across the street,"  
"Didn't you learn ANYTHING in Undercover Ops 101?" Rengs demanded, "We can't just walk into a store, in uniform, without money, and ask them to outfit-"  
"Um, excuse me?"  
Both Rengs and Simmons spun around, coming face to face with a short, slender Matrian male.  
"Uh-oh," Simmons muttered, again wishing he had a grenade.  
"Um, my boss says that you guys can't keep hiding in the alley in those uniforms," the Matrian said, pointing his thumb over towards the clothing store, "We can fix you up…maybe give you place to hide for a bit?"  
"Undercover Ops 101, my ass!" Simmons laughed, heading towards the store. Rengs, sensing a headache on the way, followed.

"Mistress Laurette, finest quality to you! What a pleasant surprise it is to see you!" Chairman P'tarek practically gushed, standing and coming around his desk to take her hand, "I'm so pleased you could take the time to-"  
"You ordered me up here," Laurette snapped, "Armed guards came to my office and hauled me away, right in front of my staff!"  
P'tarek winced.  
"You know what, my dear? I need to get you enrolled in a Friendly Banter workshop!" He started tapping at his computer, "Hmm, Learning Specialist Frant has one running next week! Frant really is top-quality, his slide show presentations are to DIE for!"  
"I DON'T NEED FRIENDLY BANTER!" Laurette snapped.  
"Oh, yes you do," P'tarek said seriously, "Your workplace attitude is an important part of your quarterly performance assessment. You wouldn't want to get fired, would you?"  
"Fired? From the Qu'Eh?" Laurette considered. Hmmm, there was an interesting possibility. Maybe she could get the whole planet fired, then the Qu'Eh would just go away and leave them along.  
"Fired," P'tarek clarified, "Out an airlock. Into the sun."  
Laurette forced a pleasant smile onto her face, then took her seat.  
"Finest quality, Mr. Chairman," she said sweetly, adapting the traditional Qu'Eh greeting, "How may I help you today?"  
"Was that so hard?" P'tarek smiled, "Assistant, some swieglis, please,"  
Another Qu'Eh brought in some sort of warm beverage.  
"Now, as you know, there has been a major breakout from one of our recruitment centers," P'tarek said.  
Detention centers, Laurette mentally translated, sipping the unpleasantly bland drink.  
"Several of our prospective employees departed before they could accept employment offers,"  
Matrian soldiers escaped before we could stick implants into their skulls  
"They attack our guards with…beer,"  
Sweet. Wish I'd been there.  
"Now, I expect you to have them rounded up immediately. Alive would be nice. Dead would be better,"  
What the sisin?  
"Er, I beg your pardon?" Laurette asked.  
"My own forces are too busy trying to hunt down Queen Anselia and Minister Stafford," P'tarek explained, "so we're going to need our new Matrian employees to handle this one. And as these malcontents have made it clear that they are not interested in employment, they are of no particular use to us,"  
"You want us to hunt down our own people!" Laurette said, "We can't-"  
"You will," P'tarek cut her off coldly, "I have an organization to run here, Mistress, and I simply must have all departments operating at peak quality. This is an opportunity for you and the Matrian people to demonstrate that you can, in fact, improve yourselves. If you fail, I may simply need to…downsize."  
Uh-oh. I don't like the sound of that.  
"By which, of course, I mean I will have to reduce your population to something a bit more manageable."  
One day, old man, I will rip your testicles out through your throat!  
"I understand, Mr. Chairman," Laurette said pleasantly.

Rengs and Simmons were now dressed in Matrian casual ware, their borrowed Matrian Defence Force uniforms vaporized in a matter reclamator. They were seated in the back of a ground vehicle as their two benefactors took them 'home.' Trant, the male who had approached them in the alley, was driving. His wife, Giri, sat in the passenger seat and spoke with the two Starfleeters. They'd recognized them as aliens fairly easily, what with the ridges on Rengs' nose.  
"Most people are just carrying on like nothing's changed," Giri said, "The biggest change is that now we have to fill out a quality form for EVERYTHING! I had to fill out a form on my breakfast this morning, Trant had to fill out a quality form when he pleasured himself last night,"  
Trant blushed. Simmons snickered.  
"I'm sorry, honey," Giri said, "but it might be relevant. Oh, and they've started 'hiring' people. Not very many, mostly MDF personnel. But I heard my hairstylist say yesterday that her sister had been hired as an Agent, and was going to be working at a new Qu'Eh facility that's being built outside the city.  
"Does she know what kind of facility?" Rengs asked.  
"Not exactly. But the Qu'Eh have been advertising for workers. I already have a job," Giri sighed, "And with all that's happened in the past two years, I don't need yet another change,"  
"What did you do before you all woke up?" Rengs asked, suddenly curious.  
"I was a reconstructor," Trant said, his face turning a bit sour, "I specialized in installing and repairing power distribution networks in the cities,"  
"I, er, specialized in clothing design in Dreamland," Giri said, looking embarrassed.  
"I thought everybody just imagined whatever they wanted in that virtual reality thingy," Simmons said, "Why would anybody need a clothing designer?"  
"Some people have dreadful imaginations," Giri said.  
They'd reached their destination; a towering building with gleaming windows and purplish-blue stone walls. Trant parked the vehicle, and they approached the lobby.  
"I'm not sure what I did before Dreamland," Giri said, "It's all so blurry, and so long ago. I think I sold paint."  
"I guess you don't remember much about your family," Rengs said, thinking of his own wife and son, safe in the Matrian desert.  
"Oh, my sisters and Aunts were in Dreamland with me," Giri said, "But no, I don't remember my father, or my brothers,"  
"I didn't have a family,' Trant said flatly, "I was cloned, in a lab, and flash-educated for reconstruction work,"  
"Now, sweetie, let's not quarrel over this…again."  
Rengs frowned as the couple took up them up a lift and into their spacious, high-ceilinged apartment. Trant was obviously still bitter about what had been done to him by the women. How many other men felt that way? Of course, he'd heard that there had been problems still between the men and women on Matria Prime, but so far as he'd known, they were all trying to make their civilization work.  
"Soo, how long had you two been married?" he asked.  
"Three months," Trant answered, giving a small smile, "After I stopped calling her a bitch every time she called."  
"And after he knocked me up," Giri shot back, massaging her stomach.  
"Er, congratulations?" Rengs offered.  
"It's OK, I was an accident too," Simmons said reassuringly.  
Rengs tucked that piece of information away for when they found the rest of the HT.  
"Oh, it wasn't an accident," Giri said, taking Trant by the arm, "It's just…there aren't very many young people on Matria. Decades of suspended hibernation, war, all of that. We all need to work on building up the numbers. I understand your Captain was doing his part. You know, I have some friends who are wanting to become mothers, if you two are interested,"  
"I already have a child," Rengs said. Here was ANOTHER interesting tidbit to file away.  
Simmons was looking temped. Rengs elbowed him in the ribs.  
"Er, maybe another time," he said.  
"We need to meet up with the rest of our team," Rengs said, "Do you know how we can get into the caverns under the city?"  
"Oh, can I use your kitchen for a minute?" Simmons interrupted.  
"Trant?"  
"This way, please," Trant stood, "That would be my domain,"  
"The cavern was sealed up after the reawakening," Giri said, as the other two went into the other room, "Most of us really don't know much about it. But I do know that when we first came out, we were in the underground transit system."  
Which made sense, Rengs mused. There were millions of stasis pods under there, and it would have taken ages to ferry everybody up the single lift that led directly into the heart of the cavern. There were probably tunnels snaking out all over Matronus. If the entranceways had been sealed, they would need some way to...  
"OK, we're ready!" Simmons said happily. He'd returned to the living room carrying a food-storage container filled with…something.  
"He made a mess," Trant whined.  
"I made a bomb!" Simmons said happily.  
"You made a bomb out of stuff in their kitchen?" Rengs asked.  
"Yeah! People used to do it all the time! What did they call them…chemical engineering students?"  
"Terrorists." Rengs said flatly, thinking back to the Cardassian Occupation of Bajor.  
"Whatever."  
Rengs turned to the Matrian couple, "Thank you so much, for everything."  
"Anything to get rid of these Qu'Eh bastards and their endless reams of quality paperwork," Giri said, "Just be careful…Admiral Verethi was on the news a while ago, warning that MDF forces would be searching for escapees."  
As the two Starfleet officers rode the lift down to the ground floor, Simmons turned to Rengs.  
"I didn't think that Verethi bitch would be the kind to turn on her own people like that," he said.  
Rengs smacked him upside the head.  
"If she really wanted us caught, do you think she'd go on the planetary news and announce that she was looking for us?"  
"Ohhh, good point. But Rengs?"  
"What?"  
"Don't smack me when I'm handling volatile explosives, OK?"  
Rengs paled.  
"OK."

Qu'Eh Invasion, +10 Days:

Commander Jall was seated in his 'office', formerly the control booth for Shuttlebay 1. On the repaired display in front of him, he could see wobbly footage from the imaging unit he'd sent with Lieutenant Sage and his team.  
The past few days, the Silverado crew had fallen into a new routine: get up, eat disgusting Qu'Eh food rations, work on the ship all day, eat more disgusting Qu'Eh food, then fall back exhausted into their cots. Jall, despite knowing that he could never hand the Qu'Eh a functional Starfleet vessel, actually found the system was working to his benefit: The crew wasn't questioning his orders to comply with the Qu'eh, assuming that he planned on fighting with the Federation fleet when it arrived. Of course, they didn't know yet that the fleet was…detained. On top of that, the odds of them being able to repair the ship in anything less than a matter of years was next to nothing.  
The biggest advantage, however, was that the crew was too exhausted to cause any problems for him. Granted, they couldn't exactly cause problems for the Qu'Eh, but he was still working on that one.  
"OK, can you see what we mean?" Sage's voice came over the radio.  
"No," Jall said flatly. The screen was showing an image of Impulse Engineering. The blown-out panels had been replaced and emergency lighting had been restored. Unfortunately, there was no power supply or data network to connect the panels to. Through the large transparent aluminum window, he could see Silverado's half-dozen or so impulse reactors. One of Sage's crewmen, clad in an environmental suit, drifted by. Life-support and gravity were still confined to the shuttlebay, running off Qu'Eh portable units.  
"Wait, is that deuterium residue?" he asked, squinting at the display.  
"Yeah, one of the conduits ruptured in the absolute cold," Sages said, "We cleaned up most of the mess, but…"  
"But you didn't get it all," Jall sighed, "OK, take what crewmen you need and get a scrubbing detail out there. We can't restart the reactors with volatile fuel all over the walls."  
"Um, that's gonna hit our quality score, isn't it?"  
Jall actually pulled out some of his hair.  
"Yes, yes it will," he said through clenched teeth, "Jall out."  
Turning to the massive, massive pile of paperwork on his desk, Jall started hunting for the daily quality summary. As soon as he got back to Federation space, he was having 'excessive paperwork' added to the list of tortures from which prisoners-of-war were to be protected from.  
Of course, that would probably land most of the Federation bureaucracy in jail.  
"Manager Jall," a Qu'Eh voice came into his ear, "Your summary of the daily food quality feedback forms was due 5 seconds ago,"  
"OK, OK," Jall snapped. He didn't ever bother looking for the specified paperwork, "The food sucked. Your food ALWAYS sucks. And we gave you a detailed report on why and how to improve it 4 days ago!"  
"And your feedback, as always, has been compiled and will be used to improve our quality of service," the voice said, "However, we still require your daily feedback for improvement."  
"Your food hasn't changed. Neither has our feedback," Jall snarled.  
"Your daily feedback is required," the voice said. Jall could feel a dull ache next to his implant, a sign that somebody was playing with its pain & punishment functions.  
"OK, OK," he said, slamming his fist onto his desk.  
"Most excellent," the voice said, "And while you're at it, I need the daily waste extraction quality feedback. Size, colour, frequency and so forth."

Down in the shuttlebay, Crewman Goresrope and Crewman Emna were using the Qu'Eh parts replicator to fill the requisitions coming in from repair teams.  
"The Commander sure looks happy," Goresrope said, nodding towards the control booth, "He's dancing again!"  
Emna looked up. She didn't think Commander Jall was dancing.  
"It looks more like he's throwing a fit," she said, "And breaking things."  
"Sucks to be him," Goresrope chuckled.  
One of Jall's hands suddenly went to his implant as his entire body started spasming, as if shocked. He fell to the floor and vanished from view.  
"Yeah," Emna gulped, again thanking the deities that only officers had been 'hired', so far, "Sucks to be him,"

Under the streets of Matronus, Rengs and Simmons were creeping carefully down a maintenance route that ran parallel to one of Matronus' underground transit lines. Daytime travel had proven too risky, with workers, travellers and MDF search teams flooding the transit lines. Night, however, was more manageable.  
It had taken a day just to get into the vicinity of downtown Matronus, causing them to miss the originally planned rendezvous with the rest of the HT, assuming they'd escaped successfully. Several days had then been spent wandering the transit system, searching for some sign of the others. After two days, they'd started leaving their own signs: small groups of Bajoran, Klingon and Barudan symbols carved into unobtrusive locations, giving the time and place for a possible rendezvous. Hopefully, the Qu'Eh didn't understand those languages.  
Simmons had also left several messages of his own, using his limited Matrian vocabulary. Rengs didn't think scrawling Matrian profanity on the walls was particularly constructive, but it kept Simmons busy. And the busier he was, the less obnoxious he was. Sadly, his graffiti wasn't doing quite enough to keep him completely busy; it felt like Rengs had spent half of their time together explaining to Simmons why he couldn't pee on the third transit rail.  
Finally, the appointed time was approaching. They'd returned to a point they'd found earlier: a section of wall that was suspiciously newer than the surrounding vicinity. The gleaming tiles had clearly been installed recently, as the rest of the centuries-old transit system was somewhat showing its age. It was in excellent condition, yes, especially after decades of effort by enslaved men, but no matter how well you clean and repair a wall, it never looks truly brand-new again.  
Rengs was certain that it was an entrance to the underground cavern beneath Matronus. Or at least to a tunnel system connecting to said cavern.  
Simmons suddenly grabbed Rengs' arm. Footsteps were approaching and, despite several efforts, they were still unarmed. Trying to look nonchalant (and trying to cover his nose ridges), Rengs leaned against the wall.  
"I guess you guy's really WEREN'T paying any attention during our last undercover workshop," Stern's voice came.  
"Oh thank the Prophets!" Rengs exclaimed, seizing Stern in a quick hug, then turning and clasping forearms with Dar-ugal.  
"Um, hi," Stern said, "You place or mine?"  
Rengs gave him a dirty look.  
"If YOU'D spend the past several days with only Simmons for company, wouldn't you be happy to see another familiar face?"  
"Ohhh, good point."  
Soon enough, they were joined by Marsden and Kreklor.  
"Didn't any of the Matrians make it out?" Rengs asked.  
"We had a scheduled rendezvous with Captain Glotenfish yesterday," Stern said, "he didn't show up,"  
"Uh-oh," Marsden muttered.  
"Uh-oh is right," Stern said, "We're going to have to be very, very careful with any other planned meetings with the escapees."  
"Are we sure going into this cavern is still such a good idea?" Rengs asked.  
Stern shrugged.  
"The Matrians might suck royally when it comes to escape and evasion, but they know to keep their mouths shut. And from what we've heard so far, the Qu'Eh aren't torturing people for information."  
"But they're still torturing them with constant and annoying comm calls, surveys and feedback forms," Marsden said, "That's another thing we've learned."  
"And they're building something outside the city," Rengs added.  
"We'll worry about that later," Stern said, "for now, we need a base of operations and some supplies. Now, does anybody know how to open this wall?"  
Simmons grinned maniacally.  
"We can't blow it up," Stern said, "We have to close it when we're done,"  
"AWWWWWWWWW!" Simmons whined, "But I built the bomb and everything!"  
"What other options do we have?" Kreklor said, crouching slightly, like he was about to head-butt the wall.  
"I brought spoons," Stern shrugged.  
The rest of the HT glared at him.  
Stern sighed. He took a look around, then abruptly jammed a spoon into a non-descript spot. There was a sizzle of sparks, then the tiled wall abruptly slid down, revealing a door.  
The hostile glares turned to looks of amazement.  
"I asked Glotenfish about possible ways into the tunnels before we left," Stern shrugged. He gestured for Masden to get to work on the door.  
"If you already knew how to open the wall, why did you ask us?" Rengs asked.  
"I was just wondering if anybody else had been paying attention to Glotenfish," Stern shrugged again.

Mistress Laurette strode through the corridor of the Quality Re-evaluation Center, formerly the main prison of Matronus. Matria Prime didn't have much need for a prison; like any advanced cultured the Matrians had a very low crime rate when it came down to it. No rapes, almost no murder, theft was practically unheard of. Of course, there was that whole nasty civil war thing, but that was somewhat different. Still, when she'd overseen the planning of the rebuilt cities during her time in Dreamland, she'd apparently included a fully functional prison system. At the time, she'd been planning on being the dictator of an empire spanning whole star systems. Prisons were just part of the ensemble.  
In any event, the Qu'Eh had moved right on in and were using the Matrian prisons to hold and interrogate prisoners. Or, in their words, to 're-evaluate the working relationships between themselves and disgruntled employees'. After the break-out from the sports arena a few days earlier, the prison in Matronus had been filling steadily, despite her secret hope that most of the escaped troops would evade the patrols.  
Unlike the Qu'Eh, Laurette knew perfectly well that several Starfleet officers had been held at that arena. And she likewise knew that none of them had been caught, yet.  
She entered the interrogation room. Captain Glotenfish was seated at the small, steel table. A Qu'Eh implant had been affixed to his skull, and he was dressed in bright red prison garb. Two Qu'Eh guards were standing next to the door.  
"I will take care of this myself," she said, gesturing imperiously for them to leave.  
"Sorry, Site Director," one guard said, "We are to supervise all quality reviews,"  
Laurette pressed her lips together. This was not a surprise. It just meant that she'd have to play rougher with Glotenfish than she would have liked. Oh well, he was just a man.  
She sat across from him.  
"Traitoress!" he spat.  
"Captain Glotenfish," Laurette said, ignoring his outburst, "You recently escaped, as did many prisoners,"  
"Potential employees," one of the guards corrected her.  
"Loyal Matrian soldiers," Glotenfish snapped, "Loyal to Queen Anselia and the proper Matrian government!"  
Oh boy. How was she going to explain this with two Qu'Eh listening in?  
"Queen Anselia is…in hiding,' Laurette said carefully, "As such, I have assumed the position of leadership. I'm sure you understand that as the leader of the opposition, such a right is mine,"  
Glotenfish said nothing, merely glaring at her.  
"Did you remember Dreamland, Captain?" she asked carefully, "And the time during the rebuilding?"  
"You mean the Dark Age? I remember thinking that the females there were the most glorious beings in existence," he spat, "A feeling programmed into me!"  
"Yes," Laurette acknowledged, "We took many steps to help us prepare the Matrian Empire for expansion, and eventual domination over this part of the galaxy. Including the use to which we put our men." She leaned forward on the table, dropping her voice to a hiss, "And do you think we'd want to put that much effort into building up an empire, only to let these slimy bean-counters move right in?"  
"I have hundreds of soldiers in this prison that would question your motives," Glotenfish said.  
"And I have billions of people who would rather be alive than dead," Laurette snapped, starting to lose her patience, "Don't you think a few hundred is worth that?"  
She could see him wavering. She didn't know if her argument was getting through to him, or if it was a bit of leftover influence from the M-SIDS, but he wasn't staring at her with the same hostility as before.  
"There was a certain group of…soldiers at that facility," Laurette said, making sure Glotenfish saw her eyes move carefully towards the Qu'Eh, in warning.  
Glotenfish definitely caught that. What was she trying to tell him? Clearly she was talking about the Starfleet aliens. But why didn't she come right out and say it, if she working with the Qu'Eh. Surely the Qu'Eh would be very interested in getting their hands on the Starfleeters…if they'd known they were there. He'd been very uncomfortable with the idea of letting aliens wear the uniform of the Matrian Defence Force…but that deception now left an entire Starfleet Security Team free in Qu'Eh occupied Matronus…a security team that had done substantial damage to Matrian forces when the two groups were fighting on opposite sides.  
"There aren't many places to hide in Matronus," he said carefully, glancing at the Qu'Eh guards and hoping she saw it, "We learned that during the female hibernation,"  
"I see," Laurette said. She continued asking questions, and to 'interrogate' the captive male, but she'd learned what she needed. The Starfleeters were heading for the underground caverns. Of course, she'd pretty much figured that out herself, and those caverns were huge. Glotenfish probably didn't see telling her that as much of a risk.  
However, it meant that she had some calls to make. Her attempts to ferment rebellion against Anselia were about to come in useful against another enemy.

"This is creepy," Simmons said softly.  
"It's a cave." Rengs replied. "We've been in caves before. It's nothing special."  
"It's not the cave," Simmons replied back, "It's the…things…in it…"  
Rengs had to admit, he had a point. After following the tunnel down from the transit system they'd found themselves in a huge, dome-shaped cavern deep under Matronus. Very deep. Heck, they'd been following the downward sloping tunnel long enough that Stern was getting worried about coming out on the far side of the planet!  
As soon as the tunnel had opened up in to the cavern, they'd found themselves surrounded by machinery and equipment. Stasis pods, open and empty, lined every surface. Life support equipment, monitoring equipment and various control cables flowed into each pod, giving each the appearance of a dark, mechanical spider, just waiting to envelop innocent bystanders.  
"I wonder how long it took to build this place," Marsden wondered, "I mean, this cavern held the population of the entire city,"  
"Half the population," Stern corrected.  
"And they have identical caverns under all the other cities, all across the planet," Marsden went on.  
"Underground construction is nothing new," Rengs said, "It's one of the easiest ways to increase your living space without destroying the environments on the planet's surface,"  
They walked past a darkened control panel. Nearby, an empty bracket hung from a support strut, disconnected cables hanging limply. Beneath it, the shattered remains of a Matrian SID lay crumpled on the floor.  
"But why would they put so much effort into building these cavers and setting up all this equipment?" Marsden wanted to know, "Their men spent decades restoring the cities, building new ships and putting together an army. If they'd just concentrated on restoration to begin with, instead of building these cavers, they could have been done in a fraction of the time!"  
"These caverns were more than just a pit-stop," Stern mused, "As long as the men were working, the women had virtual immortality, as long as they stayed hooked up to Dreamland."  
"That's cold of them," Simmons said, shining his light around and shrinking back from another stasis pod.  
"I don't think most of the Matrians realized just how long-term their stay in these pods was meant to be," Stern continued.  
"Maybe not," Marsden agreed.  
Suddenly, the silence of the cavern was broken with a loud hiss. In the distance, the Hazardous Team could see a point of light, moving down from the cavern ceiling towards the floor.  
"Somebody's coming," Stern hissed, "Lights out, we're going stealth here,"  
"Matrians?" someone wondered.  
"That light is the lift, the main surface access to the cavern control center," Stern said, "It was in Noonan's briefing notes."  
"Which means we probably have Qu'Eh company." Rengs said grimly.  
Stern considered a moment.  
"Rengs, you and I will go see what they're doing here. The rest of you, head back to that side-passage we found a while back and start setting up camp."  
They split up.  
Moving in the dim light, Stern and Rengs hurried as silently as they could towards the center of the cavern. They were still some distance away when the point of light, now visible as a glass-walled elevator, slid into the dome-shaped control structure. Trying to stay out of sight of the black entranceways, they slowed, then crept alongside the building.  
"So, this is the Matrian's deep, dark secret?" a voice, slightly sibilant, commented.  
"It is, Chairman." Another voice responded, "It took some time to pinpoint the entrance, but this is definitely it,"  
"Hmm. Assistant, pull another search of our database. Did our ancestors have any records of Matrian constructions similar to this?"  
Stern and Rengs could see the figure now. They recognized Chairman P'tarek from their pre-battle briefing. Was that only a couple of weeks ago? It felt like so much more…  
"Very well," he said, evidently speaking into his headset, "And there was nothing new in the Matrian data library?"  
"That data source is known to be corrupted, Chairman," the other Qu'Eh said, bowing slightly. More Qu'Eh troops were filing out behind them, forming a protective screen around the Chairman.  
"Yes, we've already suitably detracted from the Matrian's quality score for that little mess," P'tarek sighed, "Still, it would be nice to know why the Matrians suddenly became so interested in building things underground?"  
"It is an excellent way to expand one's population without stressing the surface resources of one's planet, Chairman,"  
Stern and Rengs exchanged a glance.  
"Yes, but by our records, the Matrians had other ways of making space," P'Tarek sighed again, "Pity they blew it up."  
Stern frowned. They must be talking about the wreckage of that orbital habitat that had been orbiting Matria when they'd arrived. The wreckage that had been accidently destroyed by a stray Qu'Eh torpedo.  
Or was the destruction accidental? Stern suddenly had his doubts.  
"Very well," P'Tarek sighed, evidently becoming bored, "Let us see if what we want is down here."  
"According to the Matrian data library, they destroyed all traces of that technology after the re-awakening." P'Tarek's guard/companion/lowly peon said.  
"And that library is corrupt." P'Tarek said sharply, "Do you think I would come down here personally if I did not think this very important?"  
"Apologies."  
Stern suddenly cursed himself for not having a weapon. One shot now and he could take out the Qu'Eh's commander in Matrian space. If they weren't so badly outnumbered, he would have strongly considered taking him out by hand, but against all those armed troops? Not going to happen. Too bad he hadn't brought Simmons and his bomb.  
The Qu'Eh were moving down one of the narrow passageways between the stasis pods now, waving scanning devices around. One pointed at the remains of another M-SID, this one appearing to have been destroyed by a blast from an energy weapon.  
"This is one of the devices," he said, "But its components have been completely fused."  
"I have located another," somebody else called, "Completely melted,"  
"What are they looking for?" Rengs asked quietly.  
"What else would a group of aliens who want to control the actions of others be looking for in Matrian space," Stern said grimly, the pieces suddenly falling into place, "How better can you ensure that somebody has the same dedication to 'quality' as you do then to program that right into their consciousness?"  
"The Qu'Eh invaded Matria Prime for the M-SIDs?" Rengs' eye widened.  
Stern gestured for Rengs to follow him back towards the rest of the HT.

"It makes perfect sense!" Marsden said, once Stern and Rengs had rejoined the others, "I mean, it's been that way with Quality Assurance organizations for centuries! It's hard enough to get everybody to share your dedication to 'quality', but actually getting everybody to agree on what constitutes quality? That's all but impossible! A device that allows them to alter somebody's personality…that must be like the holy grail to them!"  
"That's why they seized the Matrian library database," Stern nodded, "And why they wanted to capture, not destroy, the Matrian ships. But the Matrians erased all their SID research…they didn't want anybody trying this whole mess again!"  
"But they sent out dozens of them!" Rengs objected, "That's what brought us here in the first place!"  
"I guess the Qu'Eh just weren't on the delivery list," Stern shrugged.  
"Or else those ones didn't have the mind-control functions," Marsden pointed out, "Ours was only able to influence the personalities of a couple of people, remember? Anything else required Dr. Wowryk and her…um…special outlook on things."  
They watched as, in the distance, the Qu'Eh boarded the lift and began returning to the surface, having evidently found nothing but the ruined remains of the devices they wanted.  
"What do we do now?" Simmons wondered.  
"Now?" Stern shrugged, "We wait. We find the Matrian resistance, if there is one. And then we start causing…problems…"  
"Ohhh," Simmons giggled, running his hands lovingly over the bomb he'd built, "I like this plan!"

Qu'Eh invasion +15 Days:

"OK, people, what fabulous news do you have for me today?" Jall asked tiredly, facing what currently passed for Silverado's senior staff as they crowded into the shuttlebay control booth.  
Before anybody could reply, Supervisor Neum's voice sounded in their implants.  
"No friendly banter before the meeting?" she asked, sounding like a kindergarten teacher, "No warm beverages to greet your staff? And your tone…so tired, and dry! Let's try that again!"  
"Sweetie," Jall said firmly, "If you want to find something tired and dry, why don't you take a look between your le-YEOWUTCH!"  
Sage, Pye, Day, Wowryk, Bith and Quintaine waited patiently for Jall to recover from the rather powerful blast of pain his implant had just subjected him to.  
"Hi everybody!" Jall said loudly, plastering a wide smile on his face, "How are you today? Day, how are the kids? Pye, I trust your Matrian language study is going well?"  
Everybody sat in a sort of uncomfortable silence. Suddenly, Day jolted, on hand going to his implant.  
"The, er, kids, are just fine," he said, his face nearly splitting from the smile.  
"And I just finished basic verb conjugation," Pye said quickly, cringing and hoping he'd been quick enough to avoid a similar zap.  
Wowryk, who was still free of the damned implants, felt a cold chill run up her spine. This was just wrong! Members of the crew were spasming in pain, then forcing pleasantries through tight smiles. The words were polite, courteous, and on paper would have been a reflection of a respectful group of professionals. In person, in this horribly dark parody of a typical Silverado briefing, it was just…twisted.  
"OK, people," Neum said, though Wowryk couldn't hear it, "That's enough FB for now. And if you don't do better at this afternoon's meeting, your quality score is going to drop two points! Continue!"  
"All right then," Jall said, his voice dropping back down to it's previous level, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair, "Progress?"  
"You mean since our last mandatory meeting, about 9 hours ago, right before we all turned in for the night?" Sage asked.  
"That would be the one," Jall sighed.  
"No progress, then," Sage said, "Except I think the portable showers the Qu'Eh installed smell like ass,"  
"No progress," Pye jumped in, "And I agree,"  
Jall looked around.  
"OK then, no progress. Meeting adjourned,"  
They turned to leave, only to be stopped by Neum's voice.  
"Whoah, people!" she cried, "You can't leave now! No progress has been reported!"  
"There is none," Jall snapped, "We haven't had the chance to do anything since the last meeting!"  
"You cannot have a meeting without progress!" Neum snapped, "you should know this by now! Now, report your progress immediately, or we're going to be here all day!"  
Jall slammed a padd to the deck, taking a great deal of pleasure in watching the screen shatter.  
"I progressed in generating more available waste for the matter reclamation systems," he snarled.  
"Very good!" Neum said cheerfully, "You may go,"  
The rest of the staff trudged out, off to their daily repair details. The sad part was, by the time the mandatory afternoon meeting rolled around, they still wouldn't have much in the way of progress to report. After nearly 10 day aboard the crippled ship, they'd manage to re-activate the impulse reactors and replace some of the damaged components. Unfortunately, with less than 100 people working on the task, they were still a long way from restoring even basic life-support. All the power conduits were completely fried, as were the data networks that would actually operate everything. On top of that, the Qu'Eh parts replicator could only do so much.  
On the flip side, with the current conditions, it wasn't hard to hide some of the progress they had been making, so long as only non-implanted crewmen worked on it.  
Jall had come to a conclusion: Whoever was going to oppose the Qu'Eh, it wasn't going to be one of them. Without access to Sickbay, Wowryk couldn't figure out how to remove the implants. Even if she could, where would they go? The Qu'Eh would realize the instant an implant was removed. So long as they were completely dependant on the Qu'Eh for food, water and supplies, they were all but helpless.  
But that didn't mean they had zero options. And now, it was time to put what passed for his pathetic idea of a plan into motion.  
"It's been what, over two weeks since the Qu'Eh invaded, huh?" he said to Wowryk, before she could leave the 'meeting'.  
"Something like that," she muttered, "Personally, I'm counting the days until they leave,"  
"Yeah, too bad we don't know when that is," Jall stood and stretched the kinks out of his frame, "C'mon, doc. I dunno about you, but I need to get out of this shuttle bay for a few minutes,"  
"Yes, and we're going where, exactly?"  
As it turned out, they were going for a walk down the corridor. Of course, they'd had to suit up in environmental suits first, as any part of Silverado outside of the shuttlebay had no oxygen, no heat and no gravity. As they pulled themselves down the corridor, lit only by their helmet lights, Wowryk was somewhat pleased to see that, cosmetically, the corridors near the shuttlebay had been repaired.  
"Where are we going?" she asked again, her voice crackling through the helmet radio.  
"Do you remember, doc, before the battle?" Jall replied, "We were talking about how important symbols were?"  
"Yeah," she muttered, "Fat lot of good the grand symbol of Matria did. Pride cometh before the fall, apparently."  
She clearly remembered, after being appointed as Jall's first officer, how he had said to her that the Matrians held her in very high esteem, and how her behaviour in Dreamland had made a lasting impression on them, an impression that Jall apparently believed could help motivate the Matrians in some way.  
"I've been thinking a lot about that," Jall continued.  
"Good for you," Wowryk sighed.  
"And I really don't think we need a symbol up here that badly," he said. With that, he grabbed Wowryk by shoulders and shoved her into an open hatchway.  
"Manager Jall!" Neum's voice cried out, "What are you doing?"  
Wowryk gave a surprised squeal as she found herself tumbling into a small, cubic space. Behind her, the hatch clanged shut. A lifeboat!  
"We're finished up here, doc!" Jall shouted, his voice now tinged with pain as his implant kicked in, "The Matrians need a symbol more than we do!"  
"Wha?" Wowryk tried desperately to regain her equilibrium. Jall screamed as his implant pulsed to full power.  
"Find the Matrian Resistance!" he forced out, "You're more good to them on the planet now than you are up here!"  
In the corridor, out of Wowryk's view, Jall slammed his hand down on the emergency release for the lifeboat. The power in the self-contained pod snapped on, the artificial gravity dropping Wowryk into one of the seats just before the pod blasted free of the ship.  
Wowryk's eyes widened as she peered out the viewport, Matria Prime growing larger at an almost exponential rate.  
"JALL!" she shrieked, "I WILL NOT BE PUSHED AROUND LIKE THIS! YOU BRING THIS POD BACK IMMEDIATELY!"  
But there was no answer.

Aboard Silverado, Jall felt the pain in his implant fade just in time for the familiar tingle of a transporter beam to kick in. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the deck of what could only be one of the Qu'Eh ships.  
"Manager Jall," it was Supervisor Neum's voice, however this time it wasn't coming through an implant, "We are most disappointed with your performance."  
Jall pulled himself to his feet. The room he was in was long and rectangular, with rows upon rows of workstations filling the available space. Each station had a single Qu'Eh with an implant facing several screens. The screens he could glimpse showed a variety of settings; inside Silverado, inside various Matrian ships, Qu'Eh ships, and even a few shots that he realized must be coming from the planet. Supervisor Neum had left her post and now approached Jall.  
"Unauthorized transfer of materials," she said, "unauthorized transfer of personnel! And you didn't even have Dr. Wowryk complete an exit quality form!"  
"Unable to get a sensor lock on the pod," one of the Qu'Eh nearby reported, "something's jamming the signal."  
"Just a little something we managed to put together," Jall said smugly.  
Neum glowered.  
"2 quality points for one successful escape," she said finally.  
"Oh yeah!"  
"You, however," she shook her head, "clearly, you are not a good fit for the Qu'Eh organization."  
"Good," Jall smiled, "I guess I'll just be going now,"  
"No," Neum shook her head, then gestured. A pair of burly Qu'Eh were suddenly grasping his arms. "You may not be a good fit for us now, but I promise that by the time we are through with you, you will be."

After her initial fury with Jall passed, Wowryk found herself becoming bored in the small pod. Why hadn't the Qu'Eh beamed her out yet? What good did Jall think she was going to be able to do in here?  
What if the damned thing landed in the middle of the ocean?  
The pod's panel beeped as the tiny craft entered the atmosphere. Wowryk wasn't an expert on Matria, but she recognized the map displayed well enough. The pod was going to come crashing down right in the middle of the city of Matronus.  
The automated systems kicked, in, bringing the pod in to a smooth landing in what seemed to be somebody's backyard. Wowryk jumped out the hatch, yanking off her environment suit as she did so.  
"I'm a DOCTOR," she snarled to herself, "not a COMMANDO! What was that idiot thinking? I'm about as useful to a rebellion as an Atheist at a Church picnic!"  
She looked around, suddenly realizing that there was a Matrian woman standing on a patio, staring at the escape pod and at the grungy doctor with a look of extreme shock.  
"Hi," Wowryk said, "Any idea where I can find the Matrian Rebellion?"  
The woman shook her head slowly.

"I think I have something!"  
"Please tell me it's not another infomercial,"  
"Nope,"  
Marsden and Rengs were seated in the HT's new makeshift base, just off the main cavern underneath Matronus. For the past several days, they'd been working to establish themselves; gathering what supplies they could and trying to get some information on what was happening. Marsden had been scrounging components from the Matrian stasis equipment and was attempting to establish some kind of system for intercepting and decrypting Matrian and Qu'Eh transmissions. At the moment, they were listening to a static-filled report being broadcast over one of the Matrian military channels.  
"Definitely not an infomercial," Marsden said. He watched the small display, trying to adjust the translator matrix he'd tried to put together.  
"My Matrian isn't very good," Rengs said, "But isn't this something to do with an escape pod?"  
"I think so,"  
"Then it's probably from a ship,"  
"Yup,"  
"And not a Qu'Eh ship,"  
"Nope."  
They looked at each other.  
"STERRNNN! GET OVER HERE!"  
The taller officer rushed in, clad only in his uniform pants. His chest had been shaved, and a happy face had been drawn using the some kind of jam. Each eye/nipple now consisted of a cookie held in place with what looked like peanut butter.  
Rengs and Marsden stared.  
"I fell asleep," Stern said flatly, noticing the looks on their faces, "Simmons got bored. We can get back at him later, OK?"  
"I have a pack of alien honey left over from breakfast," Marsden offered.  
"Next we go up for supplies, let's raid something other than a bakery, OK?" Rengs suggested.  
"What do we have?" Stern asked, one of his cookies coming loose and dropping to the floor.  
"Escape pod," Rengs reported, suddenly all business, "Crashed in a residential suburb of the city."  
"Starfleet or Matrian?" Stern demanded.  
Rengs listened carefully to the radio chatter, a smile spreading over his face.  
"Starfleet!"  
"Let's roll!" Stern snapped. The other cookie dropped to the floor.  
"Anybody got a wet-nap?"

Chairman P'Tarek paced his office in the Matrian government complex.  
"Escaped," he said again, speaking into his headset, "And we weren't able to stop the escape pod from landing."  
"Mr. Chairman," Manager Kalmers was standing nearby, having come down to the surface to report the issue to P'Tarek personally, "It was only one prisoner, a doctor yet, not a soldier! Surely her importance to the quality of our mission is minimal,"  
"Dr. Wowryk was on that ship, un-implanted, for a reason!" P'Tarek snapped. He whirled around, his cape spinning out behind him, "If you had properly read the mission briefing, you would know that! She is high-profile in Matrian corporate territory, and keeping her isolated and out of the way was deemed a prudent precaution!"  
"If she was so important, why wasn't she implanted?" Kalmers demanded.  
P'Tarek looked at him coldly.  
"For the same reason Mistress Laurette wasn't," he said finally, "The Shareholders didn't want the negative publicity,"  
He turned towards the tall, metal-laced window that looked out over Dignity Way and the government complex gardens.  
"I want her caught," he said coldly, "And I want her to disappear. Use only Qu'Eh troops…we can't afford any screw-ups."  
"She's a doctor," Kalmers said, turning towards the exit, "Surely, she has no idea what she's doing,"

Wowryk had no idea what she was supposed to be doing.  
The escape pod had contained a survival pack, but even she knew better than to walk around Matronus carrying a pack covered in Starfleet insignia. Instead, she'd dug out the one-size-is-supposed-to-fit-all survival coveralls from under the pod seat and discarded her uniform. She then proceeded to move as quickly away from the pod as she possible could, sticking to back alleys and side streets. She'd come down in one of the residential districts of Matronus, an area of low, two or three storey houses and lush, greenery-filled yards instead of the gleaming spires and crowded streets found in the more densely-populated districts. Having spent some time exploring Matronus prior to the Qu'Eh invasion, she was somewhat familiar with the overall layout. Still, she now found herself alone, with night falling, badly dressed and wandering the streets with no overall direction. Overhead, she could hear the sound of aircraft. Looking up, she could see blinking lights from Qu'Eh shuttles and fighters streaking through the sky, no doubt searching for her. What was Jall thinking?  
Jall. Whether he was performing unthinkable sex acts or acting to free her from Qu'Eh activity, that workings of that man's mind remained a mystery to her. What did he hope to achieve? Did he actually believe that she could be a symbol for the Matrian rebellion, of all things? What kind of difference did he think she could make? Did he really believe in her that much?  
Wowryk frowned. She'd hit something there. She thought back, trying to remember the prelude to the battle with the Qu'Eh, when she'd been appointed Jall's first officer by Stafford. Jall hadn't argued. He'd talked with her, over coffee, about how she was viewed by the Matrians, and how he hoped that would help the battle.  
But not once had he ever implied that he thought she was incapable to doing the job that she'd been given. And, the more she thought about it, the stranger that seemed. Could it be that Jall, the atheist, arrogant, lust and sin-driven bastard that he was actually had…faith…in her? Wowryk shivered.  
She heard something, possibly a vehicle door opening, from the direction of the street and quickly ducked into a nearby doorway. Peering around the corner, she could see four uniformed Qu'Eh moving onto the street, small handheld sensors in hand. One of them turned in her direction.  
The door behind her suddenly opened and an arm grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. A second arm slapped something onto her arm. As she stumbled back, Wowryk's mind immediately registered the male features of the body grabbing her. Her arm swung down reflexively, fist clenched, and came into swift contact with her assailant's crotch. Suddenly free of his grasp, Wowryk jumped back into the alley, only to see the Qu'eh walking towards her. He didn't look as sure now, however, and was tapping the side of his scanner as if the thing had broken.  
Deciding to take her chances with the man she knew she could injure, she jumped back into the building and shut the door behind her.  
Deciding now was not the time for the Hippocratic Oath, she stood over him and put her foot down between his legs, ready to crush his vitals if he so much as twitched.  
"Who are you?" she demanded.  
"Jural," the man replied at once, "I'm not here to hurt me! I mean, you!"  
"What do you want?" Wowryk snapped.  
"I'm here to rescue you!"  
Wowryk blinked. She abruptly registered that the man was dressed in Matrian male formal dress; a somewhat frilly shirt and a pair of fitted pants that did very little to hide his curves. (Matrian women were surprisingly similar to human men when it came to their idea of what their dates should reveal.)  
"You're rescuing me…in formal wear?" Wowryk asked.  
"Look, can we talk later? The Qu'Eh are moving in. And I have a plan to keep you safe!"  
Wowryk considered. She could run off. It wasn't like she had a lot of other options.  
"Lead the way," she finally said.

"I really wish we had a car. A tram. SOMETHING!" Simmons whined, wheezing for breath. The HT had been running for almost half an hour already, following Matronus' underground transit maintenance tunnels. They'd climbed out of the underground cavern and re-entered the transit system, which unfortunately was still running. So far, they'd only had to knock out two transit employees, but Stern wasn't happy with even that delay. If only they could take the trams without worrying about local security!  
"The Qu'Eh are probably there already!"  
"I KNOW that!"  
"So what do we do?"  
"We run faster!" Stern snapped, "We've gone nearly 5 kilometres already, 5 more won't kill us!"  
"Nooo!" Simmons whined.

"Put this on!" Jarul said, tossing Wowryk a pants-suit like garment, the Matrian equivalent of female formal wear.  
"Not while you're watching!"  
"Huh? Oh. Um, OK." Jarul turned around. Wowryk started getting changed.  
"Who are you?" she demanded again.  
"I'm with the Matrian Intelligence Team," he said, "As soon as we picked up your escape pod, we knew it was Federation, and that whomever was aboard would have important information for us,"  
"Um…"  
"Or at least a plan?" Jarul said hopefully.  
"Well…"  
He was quiet for a moment  
"Then why did you risk being caught and who-knows-what by fighting your way off your ship?" he demanded.  
"It wasn't exactly my idea." Wowryk snapped, "Commander Jall shoved me into an escape pod and told me to find the Matrian Rebellion!"  
She'd finished dressing and now stepped in front of Jarul.  
"Fine," he said, "I can help you with that. But first, we have a dance to get to,"  
"A what?"  
"This way," Jarul said, ignoring her question, "my vehicle awaits,"

"Crap!" Lt. Commander Stern muttered, looking out at the scene in front of him.  
The HT was huddled underneath a hedge, directly across the street from the home that had become the landing sight for the escape pod. Qu'Eh craft had swamped the area, and uniformed soldiers were walking everywhere.  
"They beat us," Simmons wheezed, still out of breath.  
"Yeah, big surprise," Rengs muttered.  
"Humans are weak runners," Keklor declared.  
"Don't start!"  
"We should go," Marsden said, tapping a Matrian scanner he'd obtained, "Their sensors are going to pick us up,"  
"I thought human and Matrian life-signs were too similar to distinguish from each other?" Stern said.  
"At long range, yes. This close? Couldn't tell you without knowing more about Qu'Eh technology. Besides, we've got a Klingon, Bajoran and Barudan here, too," Marsden replied.  
"OK, let's-"  
Stern suddenly felt the muzzle of a large weapon pressing against one buttock.  
"Who are you!?" a voice whispered insistently.  
"Crap," Stern sighed, "guys, who was watching out rear?"  
"Hmm?" Simmons started, "Sorry, I was still catching my breath,"  
"Idiot," Rengs muttered, raising his hands in surrender.  
"You're not Qu'Eh," the voice went on, "And you don't seem to be on their side. But you're not with us. So who are you?"  
Stern peeked carefully back, noticing that their uninvited guests were dressed in camouflage and armed with Matrian weapons. They also appeared to be casting nervous glances in the direction of the Qu'Eh troops.  
"We're…freedom fighters," Stern said, "Against the Qu'Eh invasion."  
The figure relaxed slightly.  
"And I'm Mistress Laheya, with the Matrian Rebellion."  
There were shouts from the direction of the Qu'Eh vehicles.  
"And we're all in big s**t if we don't get out of here!" Stern snapped.  
Lehaya reached down and helped pull the larger man to his feet with surprising strength.  
"Shall we?" she asked.

Wowryk's mind was spinning.  
In the span of mere hours, she'd gone from living in Silverado's shuttlebay to crashing on a planet and wandering the streets, to being hunting by the Qu'Eh, and had now been dropped into the company of a very strange Matrian man. Wearing the suit-like outfit he'd provided, she'd been whisked into a waiting hover-limo and driven to this…place. The building was a square pyramid, with a stained-glass roof that peaked high over their heads. A group of musicians were playing in one corner, and all around them Matrian couples danced, each attired in similar formal wear.  
"Good thing I thought to have some jewelry in the car," Jarul said, "You look lovely in those earrings."  
"Will you stop hitting on me and explain what we're doing here!?"  
Jarul suddenly yanked her onto the dance floor. Wowryk had no idea what was happening, but for some reason found herself going with him. As he led her through the other dances, she saw that a pair of Qu'Eh soldiers was at the entrance, talking to one of the attendants.  
"The government has been sponsoring these socials for the past year," Jarul said, "They're supposed to encourage male-female couplings, and to increase the number of successful pregnancies,"  
"After marriage, I hope," Wowryk sniffed.  
"Is marriage that important?" Jarul asked. He shook his head, "Never mind. Look, the point is, you need to disappear for a while. Who would expect you to show up here, after escaping from your ship?"  
"Them," Wowryk said flatly, gesturing at the Qu'Eh. They had passed the entrance, and were now combing through the crowd.  
"Good point," Jarul said. He thought for a moment, "Lead us towards that far corner. I have a backup plan,"  
"Lead us?"  
"I can't keep leading us in this dance!" Jarul hissed, "It looks strange! Women are supposed to lead! That's just the way it is,"  
"But I don't…oh fine!" Wowryk started moving them in the indicated direction.  
"So what if Commander Jall had sent a guy down to the planet?" she asked.  
"It was considered most likely that somebody important enough to be sent down from your ship with information for us would be female," Jarul said.  
"I keep forgetting that there are reasons why I like this planet." Wowryk said thoughtfully, "So what is this backup plan of yours?"  
"Um, we're going to run through the alley behind the building and try to evade the Qu'Eh," Jarul said.  
"That's what I was doing before you found me!" Wowryk snapped, "Don't you have backup? Troops? Government support?"  
"Um, no,"  
Wowryk fumed, still leading them as they danced their way to the rear of the building.  
"What kind of secret agent are you, anyway?" she asked.  
"I have to work independent of the government right now," Jarul said sharply, "The Qu'Eh think they have the support of our government, now that Laurette is in charge. If they caught the MIT working against them…"  
"Right," Wowryk sighed.  
The Qu'Eh soldiers were still moving through the crowd, getting closer to the two of them.  
"We need a better plan than running through the alley!" Wowryk hissed.  
"Well, I have this place I'm supposed to take you, but not for several-"  
Wowryk stepped on his foot.  
"OW! OK, fine!"  
"Hmm? Oh," Wowryk blushed, "Sorry. I told you I wasn't a very good dancer. But good. Let's go!"  
But Jarul's exclamation of pain had drawn the attention of the soldiers. Now that they'd taken a close look at her, they must have recognized, because they started rushing right at her.  
"Let's go!" Wowryk snapped, grabbing him by the arm. They rushed towards the rear exit, ignoring the shouts of the Qu'Eh. Dodging through a narrow hallway, they found themselves in a small corridor. A nearby door was labelled 'Exit', another was labelled 'Kitchen'.  
"This way!" Wowryk and Jarul both shouted, trying to pull each other in opposite directions.  
"The exit is here!" Jarul snapped.  
"Just how long have you been doing this secret agent thing, anyway?" Wowryk demanded, "I'm a doctor, and even I know you have to come up with something more creative than that!"  
"Creative?"

The two Qu'Eh rushed into the rear corridor, finding themselves confronted with two doors. The one immediately moved towards the one labelled 'Exit', however the other one was looking more closely at the second door. It was ajar, and he was pretty sure he could hear somebody there. Surely, the higher-quality solution would be to ensure their prey wasn't in the building before leaving.  
They pushed through into the kitchen, completely unprepared for what they saw.  
The woman they were pursuing was standing behind the counter, looking at them with an angry glare in her eyes. The man next to her had been strapped to the refrigerator with the shredded remains of an apron, a spatula sticking out of his mouth like a tongue and carrot-like vegetables sticking out of both ears. The two soldiers were so dumbstruck by the absurdity of the scene that they were completely caught off guard when the woman suddenly brought a pot of something steaming up from behind the counter, throwing the contents in their faces. They Qu'Eh screamed and clawed at their faces as the substance burned, giving Jarul ample time to rip through the apron restraints spit out the spatula and knock both unconscious.  
"Matrian Spice Chowder," Wowryk said with satisfaction, "The most corrosive dish on the planet,"  
"How did you know-" Jarul started to ask.  
"I had to regenerate three stomach linings before we figured out what was causing it," Wowryk said smugly.  
"And the…distraction?" Jarul asked, pulling the last few remaining shred of apron from around his wrists and trying desperately to regain his dignity.  
"Let's just say that I work with a group of very…unique…people," Wowryk said, "Now let's go. And pull those carrots out of your ears!"  
"Yes, ma'am," Jarul muttered.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful," Stern said, sitting in the back of a hover-fan driven by their new allies, "But we were at that crash site for a reason! We think one of our people-"  
Rengs elbowed him.  
"Uh, one of the Starfleeters may have escape from the ships in orbit,"  
"We know," Laheya said, "And, please, we knew you were Starfleet too as soon as wrinkles and hairball over there got in the van."  
Kreklor bared his teeth. Dar'ugal just gave a sad sort of sigh.  
"Um, well." Stern shrugged, "OK, you got us."  
Laheya parked the hover-van, then led them into the transit system. As it turned out, the Matrian Rebellion's base was about a mile away from the HT base, deep below Matronus.  
"And as for your missing person, we have a plan," Laheya said. "In fact, if all goes according to plan, you will be reunited in a matter of hours."  
They came around the corner, right by the hidden entrance to the cavern, only to find themselves face to face with Dr. Wowryk and an unfamiliar Matrian male.  
"Things didn't go according to plan," the Matrian said, shrugging, "We had to ditch out early, but I don't think we were followed,"  
Stern blinked.  
"Dr. Wowryk?"  
"Lt. Commander Stern," Wowryk said coldly.  
There was muttering as several of the Matrian rebels exchanged looks.  
"THE Dr. Wowryk?" Lehaya deamanded.  
"Yes," Wowryk said flatly.  
"How do we know it's really you?" Simmons asked suspiciously.  
"Do you want me to detail the numerous sexual infections Stern's has had to be treated for over the years?" Wowryk snapped.  
"Let's just get her back to base," Stern said quickly, gesturing towards the tunnel entrance.

High above the planet, Jall found himself in a small room, with only a cot, a desk and a toilet for company. He'd been left there, along with a pile of paperwork that he apparently had to complete before his torture could begin. Understandable, he wasn't in any hurry to get started.  
He had no idea what had happened after he'd launched Wowryk out in the pod. He could only hope that she'd been able to help on the planet. The Great Bird knew nobody on Silverado was helping anybody anytime soon. It would be hard for the Matrians to fight back against the Qu'Eh, but maybe they could do something. And if his other little act of rebellion against the Qu'eh had succeeded, things could really start turning around.

Earth: One Week Ago:

There was a sudden beeping from the computer terminal, then the cold, mechanical voice of the computer.  
"Incoming message," it said, "Text only,"  
The occupant of the spacious living room rose to his feet, only the slightest whisper of cloth audible as he moved.  
"Display message," he said softly, his voice barely loud enough for the computer to detect.

MESSAGE STARTS:

TO: COMMANDER MATTHEW NOONAN, MONTREAL, CANADIAN REGION, EARTH, TERRAN SECTOR

FROM: COMMANDER SAN JALL, USS SILVEARDO, MATRIAN SECTOR

SUBJECT: FW: REINFORCEMENTS

MESSAGE READS:

MATRIA INVADED BY HOSTILE A**HOLE ALIENS. SHIP CRIPPLED, CAPTAIN, CREW AND MATRIAN GOV'T HIDING IN UNDERGROUND BUNKER. STARFLEET REFUSES TO SEND REINFORCEMENTS DUE TO SOME STUPID DUMB-ASS PROBLEM.

HEEEELLLLPPPP!

MESSAGE ENDS  
-

Matt Noonan carefully read the message again. He'd known that politics were being played at the higher levels, making it difficult for Admiral Tunney to get things done, but he had no idea that things had deteriorated so far.  
Apparently, his vacation was over.

End


	5. Work Hazards

Star Traks: Silverado

5.5 – Work Hazards

Starfleet Headquarters, Earth.

The Invasion of Matria Prime - +7 Days

Commander Matthew Noonan was accustomed to waiting.  
That`s not to say that he especially enjoyed it. But when one has been alive for over 200 years, one learns to deal with such inconveniences.  
Just hours ago he`d received a message from San Jall, first officer of the Silverado. Strange to think that Stafford had willingly given Noonan`s old job to Jall, but Noonan was pleased that the young Captain at least seemed to be making some smart decisions. Shortly after Noonan had left the ship, Silverado had been ordered back to Matrian space. In a matter of days, a race called the Qu'Eh had invaded, Silverado had been disabled and communications with the Matrian Sector had been cut off. Except for a single plea for help from Jall, who claimed that the reinforcements Starfleet and President Dillon had promised weren't actually on their way.  
Noonan knew that time was of the essence. Matria Prime was weeks away. The more time the Qu'Eh were given to entrench themselves in Matrian Space, the harder it would be to get rid of them. Communications with Senous, Matria Prime's closest Federation neighbour, were still up, but the Senousian defence fleet had taken a beating in the battle for Matria Prime and was in no shape to help out.  
Noonan had already been in contact with Admiral Edward Tunney, the man ultimately responsible for Silverado. That conversation had not been especially fruitful, and so he now found himself waiting for a meeting with Fleet Admiral Ra'al.  
"It's not a matter of having ships available," Tunney had said tiredly, rubbing his forehead with one hand, "We've got several ships holding position at Waystation, ready to head out. The problem is that they're old, outdated Operation Salvage ships. They're not especially reliable, and putting them up against the Qu'Eh attack fleet would be a f…a bad idea."  
"So we're going to do what, exactly?" Noonan had asked, "Wait for Ra'al to change her mind? Have President Dillon intervene?"  
"We can't go to President Dillon," Tunney had said quickly, "Just…just trust me on that one. As for Ra'al…"  
Tunney had leaned closer and lowered his voice.  
"If you can…convince her to give me one or two modern, top-of-the-line battleships, say an Sovereign or a Galaxy-class ship, I'll send them along with every ship I have sitting at Waystation. "  
"If not?" Noonan had asked.  
"If not," Tunney sat back and sighed, "Then we're going to have to find a ship somewhere else."

A day later, Commander Noonan was still waiting. As was his custom, he'd sunken into a meditative state, using his unique abilities more than his eyes and ears to sense the world around him. Over the course of the 15 hours he'd been sitting there he'd had two service robots attempt to dust him, three receptionists inquire as to his health and a small child poke him and ask its mother why there was a statue in the waiting room.  
He had not, however, come any closer to meeting with the Fleet Admiral.  
Meetings with Ra'al were not easy to come by, especially for somebody like Noonan who was, in the halls of Starfleet HQ, a nobody. He'd confess to using a few borderline-ethical tactics with the receptionists, but those had apparently proven less successful that he would have expected.  
"Commander?"  
A small human male was standing next to Noonan, holding a data padd. Noonan turned to look at the man, the sudden transition from statue to living, breathing entity startling the man enough for him to take a quick step back.  
"Yes?"  
"Um…here…" He handed over the data padd. On it was an image of Fleet Admiral Ra'al. Worried, Noonan hit the 'Play Message' button.  
"Commander Noonan," the image of Ra'al begain, her voice cold, slightly disdainful, "I understand you have been attempting to meet with me. Normally, I would simply ignore the fact that an officer of mere Commander rank was attempting to get my attention by bypassing normal channels, but as I'm sure you're aware, I have a sufficiently high security clearance level to understand that you are…not exactly the average officer. So I will take the time to deliver this message in as direct a manner as prudence allows." She paused for a moment.  
"I will not meet with you, nor will I give you any opportunity to use your little tricks to cloud my judgement. The simple matter is that the Federation is a vast body, with many critical concerns to attend to. We have allocated what assets we can spare to the Qu'Eh threat, and neither yourself nor Admiral Tunney can convince me that an alien species weeks from our borders warrants more attention that the far more immediate threats we now face."  
She leaned forward, her face a study in annoyance.  
"Now go away and stop bothering my staff!"  
The image vanished.  
So that was that. There would be no opportunity for him to attempt to convince Ra'al to send Tunney the ships he would need. And without a sufficient force, Tunney wouldn't be sending anybody to Matrian Space.  
Noonan sighed. It was time to get…unconventional.

Matronus, Matria Prime

The Invasion of Matria Prime +20 Days

"This is getting confusing," Lieutenant Marsden said, shifting his attention from one padd to another. "When you say 'Matronus', are you talking about the current city, the one we're hiding underneath, or the orbital habitat that blew up hundreds of years ago and was forgotten about during the suspended animation thing?"  
"You have to put it into context," Lieutenant Commander David Stern said, looking over Marsden's shoulder, "Are you reading about giant explosions, or about civil unrest?"  
"Um…this one is a report from one of the Matrian rebel cells on the Qu'Eh facility being built near the outskirts of the city," Marsden replied.  
"Well, then they're probably not talking about a space station that blew up hundreds of years ago, are they?"  
"Well, no. I suppose not."  
The Hazardous Team, Silverado's not-so-elite Alpha security team, had been hiding for weeks now in the maze of tunnels surrounding the massive underground cavern the female citizens of Matronus had used as a stasis facility during the reconstruction of the city. The Qu'Eh had been poking around the main chamber itself, searching for any remaining traces of the technology that had allowed the Matrian women to so completely alter the personalities of the Matrian men during that era. Fortunately, the modern Matrians had seen to the complete destruction of the M-SID technology, having decided that their society could not move forward on a basis of equality while the threat of personality alteration existed. The Qu'Eh, from what the Hazardous Team had learned, were not pleased with this turn of events. The acquisition of M-SIDS was apparently one of the factors behind the Qu'Eh invasion.  
But that didn't entirely make sense either. The Matrians had sent out dozens of the things in the search for their 'perfect/perfectly controllable man'. Surely the Qu'Eh could have obtained one easily enough. Heck, the arrival of such a device in their system may have prompted their interest in the first place. But if that was the case, why were the Qu'Eh sending people to poke around in the ruins of the Matrian suspended animation caverns?  
"What do they say about the facility?" Stern asked.  
"It's got a really big subspace communications array. Maybe even a link up to an orbital transceiver station. Maybe something on one of the Qu'Eh ships?"  
"Could be. What else do we have?"  
"Dr. Wowryk is about to send a group of Matrian rebels on a scouting mission into the government complex." Marsden reported.  
"Is that today? Crap! I better get over there!"  
Stern dashed out the low exit of the dimly lit chamber and took a hard right into the tunnel. After about 10 feet, the tunnel branched off in five different directions. One tunnel led to the Matronus transit system, another to the main stasis/Dream Nexus chamber. The final three led into the maze of tunnels and chambers surrounding the main chamber.  
Stern stopped, stared, then turned around and bolted back.  
"Second tunnel from the right," Marsden said the instant he heard Stern's footsteps.  
"Thanks," Stern said, reversing course yet again.

Dr. Noel Wowryk sat on an old crate in an empty chamber off one of the many tunnels surrounding the Matronus cavern. She'd been trying to work a knot out of her hair for about 5 minutes now, but the damned thing just didn't want to come out. On the other hand, her uniform was dirty and dust-streaked and she hadn't showered since crashing on the planet, so one could say that the knot simply added to her ensemble.  
You could, but she'd probably beat you senseless.  
Wowryk was not in the best of moods. First, she'd found herself trapped aboard Silverado working for Jall, of all people, and having to deal with that slimy little Chairman P'tarek. The next thing she knew, Jall was launching her off in an escape pod with some half-baked idea that she could somehow help out any rebel elements that might be forming in response to the Qu'Eh invasion.  
The worst part was, the bastard was half right. She'd barely finished picking herself up out of the crash site when Jural, a member of Matrian Intelligence had tracked her down. The Hazardous Team, also chasing after her, had made contact with a Matrian rebel group. They had originally been rebelling against Queen Anselia and the idea of male equality, but the Qu'Eh invasion had slightly altered their priorities. Add on top of that the fact that the old rebel ranks were now swelling with Matrian citizens eager to fight the Qu'Eh and it left you with quite a mess.  
Now, Wowryk found herself stuck between Jural's pro-government agenda, Stern's 'blow stuff up' agenda and whatever it was the rebels hoped to achieve after defeating the Qu'Eh. Needless to say, she wasn't enjoying the situation.  
"OK, so which group do I need to inspire next?" she asked.  
"We have a team of two that are going to sabotage the luggage loading systems at the Matronus spaceport," Jural said.  
"That doesn't sound very useful," Wowryk commented  
"It's not. But in the ensuing customer service nightmare, we should be able to get a man aboard one of the supply shuttles heading for orbital sensor station 13."  
"Don't tell me any more, I don't want to know," Wowryk said, "Then what?"  
Jural grimaced.  
"Then we're sending a spy team into the palace," Jural said.  
"Ookay," Wowryk shrugged.  
"What, you have a problem?"  
"No, by all means, let's send people in to spy on the woman that Stafford and Anselia put in charge of the government," Wowryk rolled her eyes, "Just saying that maybe somebody has some trust issues here,"  
Jural's mouth tightened.  
"This isn't about the Qu'Eh," he said. He looked around, then lowered his voice, "I have reason to believe that Mistress Laurette was involved with the rebels before the invasion."  
Wowryk digested this. Ever since Stafford had made her Jall's first officer, she'd been forced to think in terms of tactics and strategy. She still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.  
"That's why you insisted that this team be made up of new rebels," she said slowly, "If she was involved, you think the older rebels would cover for her,"  
"Exactly," Jural said, "Look, we need to know where she stands. Or your fleet might overthrow the Qu'Eh just in time to deliver the whole planet into Laurette's hands.  
"I'll go brief them now, then," Wowryk said.

Stern found Wowryk in a nearby chamber, standing in front of a half-dozen Matrians. They were dressed in normal street cloths and had even showered and groomed themselves. Wowryk herself was still wearing her battered uniform.  
"This mission is vital to our cause," Wowryk was saying, "We need to know details on how Laurette is handling the Qu'Eh leadership. She is also," Wowryk paused dramatically, "aware of Queen Anselia's location, along with the rest of the Council. It is imperative that we determine whether she has been implanted, and that she remains loyal to the true leaders of Matria!"  
Stern stepped in quietly, watching as Wowryk wrapped up her speech.  
"People like you are the future of this planet," she said passionately, "And your efforts will help defeat the Qu'Eh, once and for all!"  
The rebels filed out.  
"You were supposed to wait for me to coach you," Stern said, annoyed.  
"And why would I do that?" Wowryk asked snidely, "I understand I know nothing about insurgency, or tactics, or warfare. But do you honestly think I know nothing about converting people to a cause?"  
Ohhhh. Good point with that one.  
"All right. So we've been sending people on missions for a while now, collecting some good info, and getting the rebellion on its feet," Stern said, crossing his arms, "Now can you tell me why you and this Jural buddy of yours think it's so important to investigate Laurette?"  
"Agent Jural," Wowryk sniffed, "Is worried that Laurette has information that could compromise every group working against the Qu'Eh on this planet."  
"Well, he's right," Stern said, "So? She's the leader."  
"It's not a big deal," Wowryk said, "The rebels will get in, make sure she isn't implanted, observe her for a couple of days, then report back."  
"You've really bought into this guy's plan, huh?" Stern commented.  
"And what are you suggesting?" Wowryk raised an eyebrow.  
"Well-"  
"DR. WOWYK!"  
The two officers spun to see Mistress Lehaya striding towards them, a look of rage on her face.  
"What?" Wowryk snapped.  
"Did you just send a team to spy on Laurette?"  
"Yes. It is important that-"  
"Oh, you IDIOT!" Lehaya spun around, throwing her weapon to the ground hard enough to crack the casing, "WHY?"  
"I was trying to tell you-"  
"We need to make sure Laurette isn't leaking anything," Stern said, "By accident, or because somebody plugged a nasty observation device into the side of her head,"  
"She isn't," Lehaya said flatly.  
"She might be," Wowryk snapped, "We've had no contact with her, nor public communications in weeks. We do not know what the Qu'Eh may be doing to her! And she knows the location of Queen Anselia and your precious ruling council!"  
"It's a dangerous situation," Stern agreed, "We can't take the chance that she's been compromised.  
Lehaya suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Stern noticed immediately.  
"You know something!" he accused, pointing a finger.  
"Ohhh….Laurette's one of the biggest supporters of the rebellion!" Lehaya blurted out, "She's been diverting resources in our direction for over a year! She knows the rebel structure inside out!"  
Wowryk blinked. For all the time she and Jural had spend speculating on Laurette, neither of them thought to simply ask their local rebel ringleader.  
"Really?" Wowryk asked.  
"Really." Laheya said flatly.  
"Perfect!" Stern said cheerfully, "Then just call her up and ask how things are going. No sweat."  
"No," Wowryk shook her head, "No, no, no!"  
She grabbed Stern by the shirt.  
"Don't you get it?" she snapped, "The woman Stafford and Anselia trusted to run the Matrian government under the Qu'Eh not only knows where the legitimate government is hiding, she was planning a rebellion to take them out of power!"  
Realization dawned in Stern's eyes. He turned to Lehaya.  
"She wouldn't," he said, "Not to invading aliens, right?"  
"Don't be ridiculous," Lehaya said coldly as she turned to leave, "Would you?"  
Wowryk and Stern sat in silence for a moment.  
"Well," Wowryk said, standing up, "I guess I'll just go tell those guys to come back then. I'm sure we can find another mission to send them on, if we don't need them spying on Laurette."  
"Unless Lehaya, Anselia and Stafford have all horribly misjudged Laurette," Stern pointed out, "In which case, we're all in deep shit,"  
Wowryk's mouth tightened.  
"Maybe just one spy," she sighed, "Something a bit more subtle than a whole team,"  
"Agreed," Stern nodded.  
"This rebellion stuff is hard," Wowryk complained, rubbing her head, "I'd rather clean up the injuries afterwards than worry about all this plotting and scheming. And now I have to go explain to Jural that his worst fears may have been confirmed."  
"We need to speed things up a bit," Stern decided.  
"What do you suggest?"  
"I think it's time we clarified things a bit for everybody," Stern said firmly.

"Are you sure you're OK with this, Doc?" Stern asked.  
"I am certain," Wowryk nodded. Using Agent Jural's contacts in the Matrian government, the Hazardous Team had managed to sneak into a seldom used holo-vision studio. The darkened set had apparently once been used for a kids show of some kind, and while Wowryk was concerned that having giant images of furry, cuddly animals in the background wasn't exactly giving her a threatening, rebellious image, it was the only set that had all the recording equipment in place.  
"Now remember," Jural said for the third time, "You're tied into the emergency channel, but the Qu'Eh will probably be able to cut you off after a couple of minutes. Say what you have to say then let's get the heck out of here!"  
"I'm ready," Wowryk said, taking a deep breath and turning to Stern, "Jural and I can handle this part of the operation. You should move on to your next task,"  
"Uh, you do realize that if the Qu'Eh move quick, this place might be surrounded by troops in a few minutes,"  
"Exactly why I want you gone," Wowryk said sharply. "A rebellion is useless without information on the enemy. You need to go get some. And perhaps what I do here will keep the Qu'Eh from noticing you."  
"You're the boss, doc,"

"Easy boys, we're just a bunch of dudes taking a nice, quiet walk on a nice, quiet day," Commander Stern murmured as he led the humanoid portion of the Hazardous Team out of the studio and into the Matronus transit system.  
"Yeah, just a bunch of dudes hanging out without any women," Simmons muttered back, "Perfectly normal. Why don't we have more girls on the HT?"  
"Because any girl who tries joining ends up leaving because of you," Marsden replied, smiling politely at a passing Matrian couple and trying to ignore the Qu'Eh guard walking a few feet behind them.  
"Y'know, you're right," Simmons frowned, "I wonder why that is?"  
"Where to we start?" Rengs muttered.  
The four of them boarded a subway tram and rode out to one of the suburbs of Matronus. According to Qu'Eh advertisements (and Matrian rebels), a new facility was nearing completion and needed to be staffed. Fantastic incentives like 'continued existence' and 'preservation of your family lineage' were being offered to encourage Matrians to apply, but surprisingly few had actually done so. Still, now that Wowryk was urging the Matrian people to rebel, the HT had decided that a little recon was in order. After the tram stopped they walked up to street level.  
The Qu'Eh structure was easy to locate. Most of the Matrian architecture tended to emphasize hexagonal shapes, groupings of six and greyish blue or red colouring. Here, rows of nearly identical houses were suddenly interrupted by a massive, cube-shaped building. Stern didn't know if houses had been demolished to make room for the building, or if something else had been there before. But the new structure was decidedly out-of-place. A bank of perfectly identical doors led out onto the street and as they watched a Qu'Eh shuttle touched down on the roof.  
"Look at that hardware," Marsden said, pointing towards the top of the building.  
"You mean the shield generator and disruptor cannons?" Stern asked.  
"No," Marsden frowned, "Well, ok, that's strange too, now that you mention it. But look at all the comm arrays. You could handle tens of thousands of simultaneous transmissions with those. They must have a repeater array up in orbit…maybe in geosync…"  
Stern led them in through one of the entrances. A short hallway led into a very, very bland reception room.  
"Welcome to Quali-Tech," a smiling receptionist said. Stern would have found her attractive, if not for the Qu'Eh implant fused into her skull, "Why don't you let me tell you about some of our excellent benefits while you fill out these employment applications?"  
"Um, we're not sure if we want to apply," Stern said, "We were just hoping to get more information on the kind of work."  
The receptionist used an ear-tendril to flip a switch on her implant. Barred gates suddenly slid into place over the exit.  
"Oh, filling out an application is mandatory upon entrance," she said, "Didn't you read the sign?"  
Stern suddenly jumped.  
"Did I hear something?" the receptionist frowned, looking confused.  
"No, nothing," Stern said immediately. He jumped again, and Rengs, standing next to him, could have sworn he heard a muffled voice.  
The receptionist was starting to look suspicious.  
"I need a bathroom," Stern said, clutching his stomach, "I'm gonna pop!"  
With a theatrical sign, the receptionist tapped her panel, opening a side door.  
"So, um," Rengs swallowed, wondering just why Stern needed the facilities so badly, "Tell us about this job we're apparently applying for?"

Back at the studio, Wowryk was composing herself in front of the holo-images.  
"You have the speech we prepared?" Jural asked.  
"I do,"  
"You have the fiery gaze of conviction?"  
"One moment," Wowryk pulled a pocket Bible out, read a few passages, then looked up.  
Jural jumped back.  
"Fiery gaze of conviction, check," he gulped. "Let's go."

All across Matrian Prime, aboard the damaged Matrian ships in orbit, and on Matrian assets throughout the sector, viewscreens suddenly jumped to life, or shifted away from entertainment and news channels to show an image of an ordinary human woman, almost indistinguishable from a Matrian. Her arburn hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she wore clean but simple Matrian clothing. A Starfleet comm-badge marked her to even the more out-of-touch Matrians as an offworlder from Silverado, the ship that had had such an impact on their society. Her expression was calm, her pale skin like porcelain. The few Matrian children viewing the scene quickly recognize Hespar, a furry hamster-like animal featured on the Mr. & Mrs. Equality show, in the dark background behind her.  
"People of the Matrian Republic," she said, "Many of you already know me as Dr. Noel Wowryk, an officer aboard the Federation ship Silverado. Two years ago, I came to your ruling council with a message of hope and tolerance, one that your people came to embrace. In helping to lead your defence force against the Qu'Eh invasion, I came to know as well the determination and pride your people have come to take in their new world. Now, I come to you with a different message,"  
"To the Qu'Eh, I say simply this: Leave. You are not wanted."  
Across the cities, in homes, near outside viewscreens and in workplaces, Matrians nodded in firm agreement.  
"To the people of the Matrian Republic, I say this: Your government, your true government, led by Queen Anselia and King Hektor, are safe. And we, the leaders of the new Matrian Rebellion, will be working to ensure that they, not invading aliens and not co-operative apologists, return to lead you into the future."  
High in orbit, aboard his flagship, Chairman P'tarek's mouth was contorted in a snarl of rage.  
"If you are with us, wait for our sign," Wowryk said, "And the revolt will begin."

Aboard the U.S.S. Silverado, or what was left of her, Lieutenant Travis Pye watched the viewscreen and promptly began chewing on his nails.  
"I really wish one of the senior officers were here right now," he moaned. He pulled one hand out of his mouth and unconsciously started rubbing the implant the Qu'Eh had forced him to wear.  
"Unable to function without direction supervision," the voice of the current supervisor whispered in his ear, "Excellent. You are an excellent example case for our micro-management workgroup!"  
"No thank you," Pye squeaked.  
Next to him, Lieutenant Bith was deep in thought. The two of them were in Shuttlebay 1, which was still acting as a command and control center for the Qu'Eh directed repair efforts. They'd succeeding in restoring basic life support to a few decks, but since almost every important circuit on every deck had been fried, it was very slow going. That suited Pye and the rest of the Beta shift officers just fine. They didn't even want to think about what would happen if they ever managed to get the ship working for the Qu'Eh.  
Bith grabbed his hand. Weeks ago, Wowryk and Jall had managed to work out a method of communicating that couldn't be picked up by the Qu'Eh implant. She started stroking his palm, spelling out her message in the Standard alphabet.  
Must transmit to command she sent, Doubt the rebels have interstellar comms  
Pye couldn't help but agree. Moving up to the control booth, he picked up the small transceiver the Qu'Eh had used to trick Jall into obtaining information telling the Qu'Eh that there was no Federation fleet on the way. He knew that the Qu'Eh would know as soon as he used it, and that they'd take it away if it was no longer suiting their purposes. But if there was active rebellion on the planet, and a timetable to a revolution…well, he couldn't risk NOT sending the message.

Stern bolted into the bathroom, grateful that everything appeared compatible with human anatomy. Wasting no time, he promptly jammed two fingers down his throat, bringing up a disgusting combination of bile and half-digested ration bars. Oh, and a slightly discoloured miniature comm-badge. Either rubbing against the remains of the ration bar or the trip back up through his esophagus had apparently opened the channel somebody was trying to establish.  
"Stay in the shadows, Barudan," Keklor's voice came out of the tiny badge, "We do not need somebody wondering why an orange hair-ball is wandering the streets."  
"What do you guys want?" Stern demanded quietly.  
"Ahh, Commander. You have not yet died in honourable battle?" Keklor asked with forced politeness. (In Matronus, it was considered unseemly to shout into a communications device, even if Keklor's Klingon culture demanded it. On the other hand, Keklor was trying to hide from sight anyway. At least he's making the effort.)  
"We just barely got in the door! It's going to be a couple more hours before we get to the rising hostilities, and even longer before things break out into a fight."  
"Then when do you want us, your valiant backup, to storm the place and kill your oppressors?"  
"When shit starts blowing up, you guys can come on in. Until then, take Darg out for a latte or something. Maybe a romantic walk in the park."  
A string of Klingon profanity burst from the device.  
"I'll contact you later," Stern hissed, hoping nobody had heard the loud expletives, "Stern out!"  
He popped the tiny communications device back into his mouth and swallowed. Flushing downs the remains of lunch he cleaned his hands and stepped out the door.  
Rengs, Marsden and Simmons were standing in the reception office, hands above their heads and Qu'Eh guards holding weapons against their backs.  
"We're hired," Rengs gulped.

Rigel VI Salvage Depot

Commander Matt Noonan stood aboard the bridge of the U.S.S. O'Keefe. A Sovereign-class ship, the O'Keefe could have been the answer to Noonan and Tunny's problems. Could have been, if she wasn't a shattered wreck sitting in orbit between the wreckage of a Regula-class outpost and two Akira-class starships. With her saucer and nacelles largely intact but her engineering hull reduced to rubble, the O'Keefe was a candidate for Operation Salvage. Unfortunately, there was no way she'd be processed in time to help Matria Prime.  
Of course, Noonan reflected as he looked around the dark, nearly powerless bridge, that wasn't what he had in mind for this particular ship anyway. Admiral Tunney had contacted him barely an hour before with news of a message from Matrian Space. Watching Dr. Wowryk spread a message of rebellion had convinced Noonan that the time for conventional tactics had ended. It was time to do something extreme.  
There was a soft beep from the tactical console. Noonan brought up the short range sensors. As he expected, a vessel was de-cloaking directly ahead. A Federation vessel. Another Sovereign-class ship, in fact. As the distant light of the Rigel star illuminated her hull, Noonan's sensitive eyes could easily read the name: U.S.S. Banshee.

"What are we doing here again?" Lt Commander Ben Rachow asked from the helm console of the Banshee, "And, more importantly, how the hell is hanging around an old salvage yard going to help me get laid?"  
"I do not believe anything could assist you in your relentless quest for sexual intercourse," said Captain Velorn, the Vulcan 'Experience & Guidance Officer' (read 'Babysitter') of the Banshee.  
"I bet Vince would help me out, wouldn't you?" Rachow smirked.  
Lt. Cmdr. Vince DiSanto, ship's Tactical Officer and rumoured (yet repeatedly disproven) homosexual, didn't even bother to formulate a comeback.  
Sitting in the center seat was a tall, thin Betazoid. As his crew bickered, he simply sighed and raised his eyes to the transparent dome above his chair as if to ask: 'Why me?'  
"Whoever is messing around with the sensors, kindly stop at once!" Doctor Elizabeth Lang snapped from the sciences console. The gorgeous, leggy blond was accompanied by her pet hamster, Zeke. Next to Vince at the tactical panel, Chief of Security Dan Smith could have sworn that Zeke was shaking a scolding finger at the bridge crew.  
"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry," this time is was Charlotte Burns, First Officer, that spoke up, "I just found this interesting shot of a drifting warp nacelle about to drift into a gaping chasm in that Galaxy-class ship. Reminded me of my date last night,"  
She blinked innocently at the bridge crew, who had been trying all morning to collectively ignore the condom wrapper stuck to her hair. Charlotte was, well. The only thing preventing her from being a cheap hooker was the fact that she never charged for her 'services'. (Of course, most of her partners ended up feeling that they'd paid a horrible price, regardless.)  
"Why, was he moving the speed of your average glacier, terrified of the unspeakable agony he'd feel when he actually made contact?" Rachow asked.  
"No," Charlotte snapped, "But he, unlike you, was hung like a warp nacelle,"  
"So what does that make you, the front end of one of those two-mile long planet eaters?"  
"Oh, you are SO going to die, you little shit!"  
"Everybody shut up!" Captain Jad Vorezze finally snapped, "I don't know if any of you remembered, but we're actually here on a mission, we actually have a job to do, and our contact is probably freezing his ass off on that dead ship over there as we speak!"  
"Well, without an ass, at least he'll be safe from Vince!" Rachow cracked.  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks and Rachow vanished. In his place, a tall, pale, dark-haired humanoid appeared.  
"Our guest has arrived," Vince said, "Oh, and Ben is kindly keeping his seat warm for him, over on the O'Keefe,"  
"Thank you, but I will not be returning," the man said, his voice soft yet somehow possessing a hard undertone.  
"Here's hoping we can say the same thing about Ben," Charlotte muttered, dabbing a crust of dried makeup away from one eye.  
"I am Commander Matthew Noonan," the man introduced himself, "And I find myself in the unusual position of being in need of your services,"  
"I just bet you are, handsome," Charlotte oozed.  
"Bad dog! Down!" Vorezze said harshly, grabbing the squirt bottle from beneath his seat and firing several misty shots in Burns' direction. He turned to Noonan. "Let's talk in my ready room."  
"Of course," Noonan politely inclined his head.  
As they exited, DiSanto turned to Smith.  
"First, how does a Starfleet Officer even know we exist?" he asked, "And second, what makes him think we'd do anything to help him?"  
"If he is what I think he is," Smith, Banshee's expert on the supernatural and the occult, replied, "then Section 31 will want his services far more than he needs ours,"

"OK, first question:" Vorezze said, leaning forward on his desk and pushing his glasses up on his nose, "How the hell does an ordinary Starfleet Officer know that Section 31 even exists, never mind know enough about them to get the use of a Soverign-class ship full of illegal technologies?"  
"I have had contact with Section 31 before," Noonan said simply, "And I have agreed to provide them with certain…services…in return for your assistance.  
"You have, have you?" Vorezze said flatly.  
Section 31 was the ultra-secret branch of Starfleet. Nobody outside the organization, not the citizens, not Starfleet, not the Federation Council, not even the President himself was supposed to know of their existence. Section 31 had one purpose: protect the Federation by ANY means necessary. To carry out that end, their ships were equipped with phase cloaks, cataclysm torpedoes, advanced shields and warp drive, and even beaming technology that could reach right through deflector shields. They were a formidable force, but above all they had to operate under a mask of complete secrecy. (In theory, anyway.)  
"My orders from Section 31 say that I'm to pick you up and accompany you to Starbase Waystation," Vorezze said, standing straight and crossing his arms, "And that you'd be providing further details,"  
"The Banshee will be the flagship of an assault fleet that will go to Matria Prime, drive out a hostile alien invasion force and rescue the crew of the U.S.S. Silverado," Noonan explained, "Of course, you will have to pretend to be normal Starfleet officers for the duration,"  
"Of course," Vorezze said sceptically, "What, are we just going to cross 'Banshee' off the hull and scribble 'Noonan's Slave' overtop? Just exactly what 'services'," Vorezze made little air quotes, "can you provide that would convince Section 31 to give you-"  
Before he could finish, Noonan had moved over the desk and pinned Vorezze to the ceiling. As he gasped for breath, Vorezze noticed that he was being held up by a single hand. Of course, he stopped paying attention as soon as he saw the look on Noonan's face. The man's lips were pulled back in a snarl, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. His violet eyes blazed, and his expression, so calm and relaxed a moment ago, was now one of indescribable rage.  
Vorezze wet himself.  
"I DON'T HAVE TIME TO PLAY GAMES!" Noonan snarled, "YOU WILL SET COURSE FOR WAYSTATION! NOW!"  
And suddenly he was back on the other side of the desk, standing as calmly as you please. Vorezze was back in his chair, as though nothing had happened, but he could still feel a dull ache where Noonan's cold, hard hand had been.  
"I have many talents to offer Section 31," Noonan said calmly, "And if it will save my former shipmates, then I will offer them." He looked thoughtful, "For a time, anyway."  
With that he turned and stepped out.  
"And I thought Charlotte's PMS was bad," Vorezze muttered to himself.

Noonan strode through the bridge of the Banshee and into the port turbolift. He hadn't enjoyed tormenting Captain Vorezze at all. He found such actions deeply distasteful. Still, he had lost too much time already. Turning to Section 31, one of the few divisions within Starfleet that was aware of the existence of supernatural beings such as himself, was truly a last resort.  
He only hoped that Stafford, Wowryk and the rest were still alive to appreciate the trouble he was going to on their behalf.

Matria Prime

"Welcome to Quali-Tech, company of the future. During this brief and informative training video, you will learn everything you need to know to be a happy, profitable and living employee,"  
The Hazardous Team, along with about a dozen Matrian civilians, had been 'processed' by their new employers. Stern had never worked for a civilian company before, but he was pretty sure that most companies didn't attach explosive, escape-prevention neck braces on their employees. No sooner had they been scanned and tagged than they were pushed into a bland, tan-coloured classroom and strapped into uncomfortable seats. No sooner had the guards moved to the back of the room than the large screen on the front wall came to life, showing a smiling, Qu'Eh female. Marsden couldn't help but notice that she was dressed in Matrian-style clothing, leading him to wonder if they Qu'Eh had actually custom-made this video for a Matrian audience. Stern couldn't help but notice that she had to be at least a D-cup.  
"Why do companies always say they're the 'Company of the Future'?" Simmons demanded loudly, making little air quotes. There was a zap as an electrode in his chair delivered a powerful electric shock.  
"No talking during the video," declared one of the guards.  
"But-"  
BZZZZTTTT!  
"YEOWITCH! OK!"  
"Here at Quali-Tech, we believe the customer comes first. Our highest goal is to ensure that each customer encounter with Quali-Tech reflects only the highest standards of quality,"  
On the screen, happy, smiling employees were seated at rows of workstations, speaking through implanted headsets.  
"The key member of your Quali-Tech Team will be your supervisor,"  
The video zoomed in on a smiling Qu'Eh man with a gold sigil on his implant. As they watched, the video supervisor exchanged encouraging words with a video employee, both grinning like fools at the end.  
"Your supervisor is there to help you ensure that only the highest quality service is provided to our customers by you, our valued employees,"  
Now the screen changed to show employees relaxing in a comfortable-looking lounge. A vid-screen played on one wall while a cheery girl in a red outfit sold snacks and hot beverages behind a counter.  
"And don't forget about our fantastic break room, work schedule and benefits program."  
With that, the video ended.  
"Whoah, what kind of benefits program?" one of the Matrians demanded.  
"What kind of job are we doing, anyway?" another asked.  
"We're being paid for this, right?"  
"Your supervisors will answer any further questions," the guard grunted, pulling out his weapon and motioning for the door, "Let's go,"  
As they shuffled down the hall, Simmons stretched.  
"I dunno, that doesn't sound so bad," he said.  
"Oh, it's bad," Stern muttered, "Didn't you study Earth history, from back before the Corporate Riots?"  
"Um, no?"  
"Angry mobs stringing up CEOs? Executives being burned at the stake? Managers drawn and quartered? Right around the beginning of World War III? None of this is ringing a bell?"  
"Why is this important?" Rengs asked, adjusting the bandage on his nose.  
"Because the differences between what employers promised, like that video, and the reality of the job, like we're about to experience, is one of the reasons why the riots happened," Stern sighed, "And from what I can piece together, we're in the worst possible business when it comes to employees rights,"  
"You mean living practically as slaves on an enemy-occupied world?" Marsden asked.  
"Worse," Stern said as the hallway opened up into a cavernous room filled with endless rows of workstations, "We're in a call center,"

USS Banshee: Approaching Starbase Waystation

"Ok, I finished painting over our name on the hull," Lt Commander Ben Rachow called over the comm, "now can I PLEASE come back in? The warp field is making everything out here taste purple!"  
Seated next to Captain Vorezze in the chair usually occupied by Commander Burns, Commander Matthew Noonan raised an eyebrow.  
"I'm impressed, Captain," he said, "I knew Section 31 had access to advanced propulsion technologies-"  
"Which is why we're arriving at Waystation now instead of a week from now, you're welcome very much," Vorezze cut in.  
"-but I didn't realize those advances had reduced the neurological trauma that such raw exposure to warp-field radiation could cause, to the point where your crewmembers can safely survive exposure."  
Vorezze looked slightly uncomfortable.  
"Uh, well, you learn something new every day,"  
"I'd like to learn how a lowly Starfleet officer has the power to kick me out of my chair," Charlette fumed, standing behind Noonan.  
"Anybody has that power," Captain Velorn said, "But, given the various organisms present on your body, it takes great bravery to actually exercise that power,"  
"Take us out of warp," Vorezze ordered.  
There was a scream from the comm-channel.  
"I guess we should have beamed Rachow back inside before we did that," Commander Smith grunted.  
"Is he going to be OK?" DiSanto asked.  
Dr. Lang consulted the sensors.  
"He's been thrown off the hull," she reported, "But at the speed he's moving, he'll be fine,"  
"F**k," Vince muttered softly.  
"We'll pick him up on the way out," Vorezze shrugged.

Aboard Waystation, Captain Lisa Besk was faced with an angry mob.  
"Look," she said, "I don't know why he ordered it. Or what the deal is. But Admiral Tunney has ordered that none of you are to leave this station without his express authority!"  
"We've been waiting here for three weeks!" cried Captain Simplot, the female commander of the USS Stallion,"  
"We know," Waystation Security Chief Russell said dryly, "your Hermat officer has been thrown in the brig three weekends in a row now,"  
"And you've slept with hier every time, so quit your bitching!" Simplot snapped.  
"We are accomplishing nothing," declared Captain Jacob Sybil of the Proxima-class USS Champlain, "Our crews are going stir-crazy, packed into this station!"  
"Admiral Tunney has us cooling our heels here until he can find a Sovereign-class ship," snorted Captain Cote of the Excelsior-class USS Vendome, "Sovereign-class ships don't just pop up whenever you need them!"  
"Captain Beck, we've got the USS Medusa requesting permission to dock,"  
"An unschedualed arrival? Perfect." Beck sighed, fighting off the beginning of a major headache. "I don't suppose she's a Soverign-class, huh?"  
"Actually-"  
There was a thud as a space-suited figure splattered against the broad window looking out into space.  
"She is," Morales finished.

Thirty minutes and an emergency medical and window-wiping team later, Beck and Morales were looking out the window as the fleet of ships pulled away from the station, bound for Matria Prime.  
"I have never seen a group of starship captains race out of Ops that quickly before, ever," Beck said flatly.  
'Not even when Porter had that irritable bowel thing going on," Morales agreed.  
"There's something fishy about this whole thing though," Beck shook her head, "I've never heard of a ship named the Medusa being launched. And why was Silverado's old first officer with them?"  
"And why does it look like somebody just spray-painted 'Medusa' overtop of something else?" Morales wondered, squinting at the huge Soverign-class ship as it eased past the Ops tower, "I can almost make it out…USS Bayoncee?"  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks, then Lt. Cmdr Rachow materialized in the center of Ops, fiddling with some kind of device.  
"Ok, I hit the window at 1550h, it's now1624, so subtract, borrow from the 1…"  
The memory-erasure device in his hands flashed, dazzling everybody in Ops…including Rachow.  
"What was I saying?" Beck wondered, looking over to Morales,"  
"I don't know," Morales shrugged, "Why are all those ships leaving, again?"  
"Who am I?" Rachow wondered, just before vanishing in another transporter beam.

"We have Rachow back," Smith reported, "But he seems to have forgotten to look away from the mind-wiper."  
"Moron," Lang sighed, "I told you I should have been the one to do it,"  
"Rachow insisted, for some reason," Vorezze shrugged.  
"In any event, you will have plenty of time to rehabilitate him before we arrive at Matria Prime," Noonan said.  
"Great. Two weeks of utter boredom," Vince said.  
"My first trip in this direction took over a month," Noonan said, "Of course, it would have been a matter of weeks if our plumbing hadn't exploded, crippling our ship."  
"I doubt we'll be having any problems like that," Vorezze said confidently.

Deep in the fabric of Charlotte's seat, there was life.  
Tiny insect eggs, a strain of Klingon parasites, had been deposited weeks ago by an unknowing Commander Burns after a rather…un-officer-like evening involving a Klingon security team. The eggs had lay dormant, rendered inert by the strong chemicals Burns had had to use to remove the parasite. Now, however, the miniscule life inside the eggs could sense new blood. Powerful blood. With savageness only Klingon wildlife can possess, the eggs hatched.

"I'd like to begin the planning phases of our assault tomorrow," Noonan was saying, "Of course, you will have to rely on Starfleet-level weaponry." He frowned.  
"Something wrong?" Vorezze asked.  
"I do not think so," Noonan said, "But…this chair…it's giving a sensation that I don't recognize."  
"I can give you a lot of sensations you wouldn't recognize," Burns purred, laying one poorly-manicured hand on Noonan's shoulder.  
Noonan recoiled. Never before had a human put him so badly off his appetite.  
"In any event," he said, shaking her hand off, "I shall retire for the time being."  
He left, unaware he was now carrying a few extra passengers.

Matria Prime:

"Thank you for comming GalactiCast, you've reached David, how may I assist you today?" Stern said, speaking as clearly as possible. The stupid neck brace was itching. Thank God the Qu'Eh were experiencing a shortage of headset implants! All the new call center employees were 'stuck' with old-style, non-implanted headsets.  
"Yes, my holo-vision receiver stopped working last night, and I need if fixed,"  
"Oh, I can certainly help you with that," Stern said, reading line for line off the viewscreen in front of him, "May I get the serial number?"  
As he started to key in the code, his display split into a highly complicated flow chart. From his current position of 'Device malfunction – Enter Serial' he could potentially go down to 'Replace Device (500 credits, 3 week wait), 'Replace Device (warranty, 9 week wait), 'Attempt Reboot' and 'Attempt Repairs'. (Both of the last two weaved through a few boxes before flowing back up to the 'Replace Device' tree.) As he keyed in the last digit, the 'Replace Device, 500 credits' flow line illuminated.  
"Uh, we need to send you a replacement receiver. But since you're out of warranty, it's going to cost 500 credits." Stern read.  
"WHAT!?"  
The rest of the conversation went, predictably, downhill. The now-irate customer was taking Stern all over his customer-handling flowchart, but it seemed like almost every branch terminated with 'I'm sorry, that's against company policy,'  
Finally, the exasperated woman fired off a final comment regarding his parentage and hung up.  
Stern let his forehead fall to the desk.  
"That has to have been the worst conversation of my life,"  
"Yes, but your quality score was a 3, which means you're already meeting the basic standard!" an exited voice said behind him.  
Stern turned to face his supervisor, a Qu'Eh by the name of Mofuut.  
"How the hell can that be a quality call?" he demanded, "She was ready to skin me alive!"  
"Yes," Mofuut smiled, "But you followed the client's call flow perfectly. I'm submitting your call recording to GalactiCast for assessment, I'm sure they'll be pleased that our new employee training is so effective!"  
"Um great," Stern was feeling another rumble in his stomach. Somebody was trying to contact him! "Look, my break was 20 minutes ago, and…"  
"Oh, you missed it because of that call? No problem, you've got another coming up in 4 hours or so,"  
"But I really gotta…" Stern crossed his legs.  
"Fine," Mofuut snapped, "But this is coming out of your call handle time!"  
Stern rushed for the bathroom, found an empty stall, jammed his fingers down his throat and caught the miniature comm-badge with his teeth.  
"No, I didn't think Stern's going to answer," Stafford's voice was coming from the tiny device, "But I was trying anyway. All I'm getting is really weird squishing sounds. No, I don't want to try calling Dr. Wowryk again, she might be…BURKE! You're supposed to be finding useful information in the MDHQ network, not checking out Crewman Gibson's porn collection! Yeah, she does have a great rack, but that's not the-"  
"Nice tits are always the point," Stern muttered to himself.  
"STERN?" Stafford nearly squeaked in surprise, "Hey guys! We have a contact!"  
"Now really isn't a good time, Captain!" Stern said, "We've infiltrated the Qu'Eh call-center near Matronus,"  
"What call-center?" Stafford asked, "Who's 'we'? Why are you-"  
"Look, I don't have much time," Stern said, "The Qu'Eh are exploiting Matrians to staff this mega-sized call center near Matronus."  
"Why would they do that?"  
"Just how out of touch have you people been?" Stern demanded.  
"We've been in this bunker for the past three weeks!" Stafford snapped, "If you could give us even the tiniest hint of what's going on out there…  
"Dr. Wowryk is running our part of the rebellion from under Matronus. She says the Qu'Eh is holding the rest of the crew captive aboard Silveardo, but Jall broke her loose. They're actually trying to fix the ship!  
"Fix my ship?" Stafford's voice was soft, unsure. Then he seemed to pull himself together.  
"What have the Qu'Eh on the planet been doing?"  
"Aside from arresting people, taking over the government and implanting people with those control devices? Oh, they were searching the caverns under the Matrian cities," Stern remembered, "They were looking for intact M-SIDs"  
"Ohh, not more people wanting to play mind games," Stafford groaned.  
"That's exactly what they want, sir," Stern said. Suddenly, two of the dots wandering around his mind were connected, "The way I see it, they want to put the M-SIDs in their call centers to force their employees to –"  
"Just stop right there," Stafford said, "You think they invaded an entire planet, at the cost of hundreds if not thousands of lives, just to get their hands on technology that would help them enslave and degrade their employees?"  
"Not just that," Stern said, "If they had an M-SID, they could convince all their employees just how wonderful their jobs were. Complete brainwashing."  
"K, but the Matrians destroyed the M-SIDs. Why haven't the Qu'Eh left?"  
"Because even without the M-SIDs, they just got their hands on an entire planet's worth of potential employees," Stern said.  
"Um, wouldn't they have enough people on their own planet?" Stafford asked.  
"Sir, have you studied the Corporate Riots of Earth? If the Qu'Eh are running their people the same way…"  
"They'd need entire planets of slaves just to handle employee turnover," Stafford sighed.  
The washroom door opened.  
"Gotta go," Stern hissed, closing the channel and swallowing the badge once again.

Several gruelling hours later, Stern and the HT found themselves on the street. Night had fallen, and the towers of downtown Matronus sparkled in the distance.  
"Well now what?" Simmons asked, a slightly nasal whine in his voice.  
"Now," Stern sighed, "We either figure out how to get these braces off, or we show up for work on time tomorrow, or our heads explode."  
"Maybe this whole infiltration thing wasn't the best idea," Marsden sighed.  
"No shit." Rengs muttered.  
"We learned a lot," Stern said. He looked thoughtfully back at the Quali-Tech building. "We know one of the things that the Qu'Eh want from the Matrians."  
"And that means that now we know where to hit them," he finished.

From an upper level of Quali-Tech, Chairman P'tarek looked out the window at the departing humans.  
"When they tripped our bio-sensor alarm, I knew I had to escalate the matter immediately," Manager Garer said, grovelling slightly, "Of course, I was sure to go through all the proper channels."  
"Indeed," P'tarek said, "Most of our sensor systems can't tell the difference between a Matrian and a human. It's good to know that our employee screening is sensitive enough to do so. Of course, you installed tracking devices in their collars?"  
"Of course," Garer replied, "If you like, I can have a team chase them down immediately,"  
"Don't be foolish, Manager," P'tarek said sharply, adjusting his cape, "This sort of…acquisition…takes time. I want you to track them, but only to track them. I want reports on where they go, what they do, and of course, if any of them show up late for work."  
"Yes, Chairman,"  
"This will be reflected very favourably in your quarterly performance review, Manager," P'tarek said, "Thanks to you, we'll be able to track down Wowryk, the rebels,"  
P'tarek's eyes gleamed.  
"Maybe even Stafford and Anselia themselves!"

End

Next: While Wowryk and the HT have been hard at work, Stafford, Anselia and the rest have still been holed up underground. Is it time for them to get more involved, at the risk of exposing themselves to the Qu'Eh? Er, not that kind of exposing. You know what I mean. You don't? Forget it, just wait for the next story.


	6. Conflict of Interest

Star Traks: Silverado

5.6 – Conflict of Interests

Matrian Installation 317

Around 200 years ago:

"Report status?" Colonel Myress Abela asked, stepping out of one of the central turbolifts into the Installation 317 Command Complex and taking the steps up to the second level two at a time.  
"Nothing unexpected," Sub-Commander Denisel Brekan called down from the command deck, "The materials shipment arrived half an hour ago."  
"The hull alloys for Shipyard 3?" Abela asked, running one hand on the railing as she walked along the ring-shaped second level, heading straight for the stairway leading up to the central command deck, parked right on top of the turbolift column. These new three-level command centers that Central Design was coming out were impressive, spacious, and had a great view of the outside. But they also involved a hell of a lot of walking. Plus, while it didn't bother Abela, she was certain that some visitors would look out of the lower bank of curved windows, find themselves staring straight down along the sheer drop of the Command Tower and either vomit, scream or run cowering back to the turbolifts. Or all of the above.  
"We're in the process of transferring them to the shipyard, yes," Brekan confirmed. She was seated at one of the pulpit-like control stations that ringed the command deck. The central holo-table was showing a news broadcast with the sound muted. The sunlight streaming in through the upper windows washed the image out slightly, but the images were still visible. Something about another declaration by the Male Rebellion. Whatever.  
"Carry on," Abela nodded. She looked down through the lower windows, into the cavernous expanse of the facility. The Matrian government was expending a ridiculous amount of resources constructing the place, and it showed. Light glinted off the lake, the surface of the water as smooth as glass. There was no wind in the massive inner chamber, and the wave generators that would eventually give the lake a more natural appearance were inactive. Hell, most of the facility was inactive, as construction was just wrapping up. But all that would change in a matter of weeks, once Installation 317 was unveiled to the Matrian people. For now, its existence remained a poorly kept secret. Its location, fortunately, was a much better kept secret.  
"Colonel, you better listen to this," Brekan said, restoring audio to the news feed.  
"-just received confirmation from government sources that the message was received over two hours ago," the female journalist was saying, "With confirmation that it originated from Den Omak, self-proclaimed Male Opposition to the Council of Mistresses."  
The image shifted to show a male Matrian. His eyes were cold and dark, his face twisted with rage.  
"The refusal of this government," he was saying, "to allow equal opportunity to the men of the Matrian Empire is a crime. It is a crime because you yourselves changed us, and made us what we are today. You changed us into what you thought the perfect male citizen would be, and now you refuse to let us take a role in leading our people in this new age. These crimes cannot be forgiven. Nor can they go unpunished."  
As she watched the man speak, Abela felt something cold in her belly. The words weren't new. It was the same old garbage the Male Rebellion had been spouting for years. But something about this man, the conviction in his eyes…  
"You have two hours," he was now saying, "to submit to our demands. You will free all members of the Male Rebellion currently held captive. You will change the constitution of our government and hold an immediate round of elections, ensuring proportional male representation on the Council. If you do not submit to our demands, we will destroy Matronus."  
The recording ended.  
The newswomen started commenting on the reaction in Matronus, the panic and the waves of shuttles departing the massive orbital city as terrified citizens tried to flee.  
"They couldn't destroy Matronus," Brekan said, shaking her head, "Could they? I mean, it's a city!"  
"Silence!" Abela snapped.  
"-received confirmation," the newswoman went on, "Definite reports of problems in Matronus. Our own ground sensors are detecting unusual fluctuations in the city's energy signature. We are attempting to contact our offices aboard Matronus for more information."  
The view shifted. One half now showed a view of the habitat, presumably taken from a nearby satellite. The other half showed a static-filled image of a woman. Behind her seemed to be a kind of lobby, with worried-looking people rushing around in the background.  
"Officials refuse to comment," the reporter was saying, her voice distorted, "But our sources say that there seems to be a problem with one of the antimatter reactors powering the city. Unconfirmed-"  
The image of the reporter abruptly vanished. There was a blinding flash of light from the other screen. Both of the watching women shielded their eyes. As they glare faded they looked back, expecting the flash to have been due to the interference on the channel.  
What they weren't expecting to see was Matronus breaking apart, secondary explosions rippling across the city. Abelia gasped in shock. Suddenly, a second blinding flash of light erupted, then a third. When they looked back again, the entire city had shattered, like a plate hit by a hammer.  
"By the Gods," Abela gasped.  
"No!" Brekan gasped, "But…there were hundreds of thousands…maybe a million-"  
"My parents-" Abela's throat chocked off. Her parents had moved to Matronus two years ago.  
"How-" Brekan started.  
But she already knew. It was right there, for everybody to see. One of Matronus' three antimatter reactors had detonated. That alone was enough to render the city uninhabitable. But the explosion had set off the remaining two reactors, completely destroying it.  
Her panel beeped.  
"I'm getting a communication from Defence HQ," she said, her voice still shaking. Abelia was still staring at the screen, where the shocked newswoman was trying to compose herself.  
"On display," she ordered. She wanted the newswoman gone. She wanted her gone before she could start talking about the massacre they'd just witnessed. The cold in her gut had been replaced with a sickness. A wave of nausea washed over her, her vision wavering as the world spun around her.  
"It's a text message." Brekan said, "We…we've declared war. The Council of Mistresses has already made the announcement. The fleet is gearing up to wipe the rebels out. They're instructing all males to remain at home, and to submit to any questionings or protective custodies ordered by local authorities,"  
"That was fast," Abela said softly, still in shock. In fact, it was fast. TOO fast. How could the Council have been able to react so quickly?  
For that matter, why hadn't the Council been on Matronus when it exploded?  
Now was not the time for such thoughts.  
"Instruct the shipyards to gear up for full production," she ordered, "Start fueling the fighters and attack ships in the hanger bays."  
"Belay that," Brekan said before any of the other officers in the command center could react.  
"What?" Abela snapped, spinning to face her.  
"Our orders," Brekan said, staring at her screen, "Are for an immediate lockdown. We are to cease all activity, evacuate all personnel and follow procedure 23-B,"  
"Do they say WHY we're doing something that STUPID?" Abelia snarled, leaning over Brekan's shoulder.  
"They do." Brekan pointed.  
"A computer virus," Abela read from the display, her blood running cold. It was just minutes after the explosion, and they already knew a computer virus had destroyed Matronus. The virus had worked its way into the computer systems and caused the detonation of one of the three power cores.  
Matronus, like all orbital stations and satellites, constantly transmitted telemetry to Matrian Space Operations. It wasn't unusual that the MSO would be able to quickly analyze data from an orbital accident and come to a rapid conclusion as to its cause. But this was suspiciously quick, especially given the fast reaction of the Council.  
Abela pushed those thoughts to the side. The bigger issue was the virus itself. If the Male Rebellion had such a weapon, then they could destroy any government facility that contained its own power core. Ships, research stations, shipyards.  
Or Installation 317.  
Procedure 23, Abela recalled, called for a complete shutdown of all systems, the initiation of camouflage procedures, and preparations for a long period of dormancy. Variant 'B' was to be used in the event of cyber-terrorism, or a cyber-attack. It called for an extreme lockdown of all computer and control systems.  
"Evacuate the main chamber," Abela ordered through dry lips, "Prepare to purge the atmosphere and replace it with a preservative mix. What's the status on our sensor-jamming fields?"  
"They've been running since construction on the installation started," Brekan reported, "And they're still fine,"  
"Polarize any exposed areas," Abela said, "Switch all power over to geo-thermal systems,"  
"But we just got main power up last week!" Brekan objected.  
"I want those reactors offline and in a state of cold shutdown," Abela said sharply. She had downloaded the full message from command, along with the step-by-step instructions for Procedure 23-B. "This installation just became an emergency bunker," she said.  
"There's one more thing," Brekan said, reading a second message from Defence HQ.  
"There's going to be more than that in the next few days," Abela said darkly.  
"They're sending us a prisoner," Brekan said, "They captured him during a raid on a rebel cell. They want him kept out of sight until they decide what to do about him."  
"If they bring him here, he's going to be packed away for a very long time," Abela mused. She looked out the upper windows. Already, the sun was being obscured as the sand blowing over the installation was attracted to the polarized outer surfaces. The place had already been sensor-shielded. Within a day, it would be buried under at least a foot of sand. Descending to the second level, Abela looked out the lower windows. The main cavern was dimming, the massive illumination panels arching up the ceiling shutting down. She couldn't see the nitrogen gas flooding the chamber, but in her mind she could imagine it, like a dark cloud, obscuring everything they'd built.  
If the men and women of the Matrian Empire were now at war, their civilization was in a lot of trouble. Few people in the Empire knew the purpose of Installation 317, and even fewer knew its exact location. If the war went badly, it could be a very long time before anybody stepped foot here again.  
If things went very badly, Installation 317 would become the last, buried trace of a destroyed civilization.  
Outside the Command Tower, the main chamber went black.

Matrian Installation 317

The Invasion of Matria Prime - +20 Days

Captain Christopher Stafford stood, stretched and kicked the covers off of the double bed he'd been sleeping in. Yawning and stretching the kinks out of his back, he padded towards the washroom. After fiddling around with the strange Matrian plumbing for a few moments he managed to get the hot water running in the shower and stepped in.  
Over the course of the last week or so, life in the underground Matrian installation had been completely transformed. After Valtaic had figured out how to bypass the manual locking mechanism on the doors, and after Fifebee had been restored to normal functioning, they'd begun the process of opening up and exploring some of the locked-up portions of the installation. Unfortunately, they were still coming up against three major obstacles:  
One: huge areas of the facility were flooded with nitrogen and other inert gases. Fifebee believed this had been done to preserve sensitive areas during the centuries-long lockdown. Whatever the reason, since nobody had bothered to bring environmental suits and since they hadn't found the local equivalent yet, those areas were inaccessible.  
Two: the computer systems simply refused to accept any input. Period. Craigan, the Matrian male who'd been in stasis in the facility for close to 200 years, had shown them a few things about Old Matrian technology, but ultimately it hadn't proven useful.  
Three: The place was massive. Even with most of Silverado's crew and the Matrian refugees, it was taking a very long time just to map and catalogue the areas that were accessible.  
Still, progress was being made. Three days ago, they'd been able to access a second tower above the transit hub. The main tower they'd found and unofficially dubbed the 'Command Tower' had been centered exactly over the hub and had contained the installation control center, along with dozens of levels worth of offices and laboratories, in addition to several areas whose purposes were not immediately apparent. The second tower had been off to one side. One of the main stairways in the hub had led into the base of this tower, but the doorways leading from the stairway into the tower itself had been sealed. Once Valtaic had cracked the doors opened, they'd found that the tower seemed to contain living quarters. Very nice living quarters, actually. The 10-foot ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows and pleasant décor had been a definite improvement over the cots and bedrolls the Starfleet crew had been using at their main camp, situated on balconies and tram platforms in the cavernous Transit Hub. The second T'Parief had declared the residential tower safe, Stafford had moved the entire Starfleet camp into the nearly luxurious new quarters. In the time since, two more residential towers and two more office towers had been located. Part of him worried about the image he was presenting to the Matrians, however. They'd already discovered that the Command Tower, the Transit Hub and whatever facilities/buildings surrounded them were located on an island in the center of an underground lake, accessible only by six bridges over which the installations automated tram system crossed. Here he was, keeping his people holed up right next to the command and control center, while the Matrians were over a kilometer and a half away, on the outer edge of the installation.  
Not that the Starfleet contingent was the only group benefitting from improved living accommodations.  
Out at the outer rim of the facility, explorations had been progressing at a much quicker pace. This was partly due to the large number of Matrian refugees, but more so because the layout of the outer rim had been found to follow a repetitive pattern. The shipyard found by Lieutenant Yanick during her kidnapping had proven to be one of six such shipyards evenly spaced around the other circumference of the installation. Between every pair of shipyards were two 'smaller' hanger bays, themselves spanning at least 10 levels. The remaining space along the other rim was a maze of cargo facilities, security checkpoints and almost every kind of room imaginable.  
The interesting discovery for the Matrians living out on the rim had come a day before the Starfleet group had found the residential tower. One of the Matrian teams, in an effort to locate an alternate route to the central island of the facility, had found that the inner wall of the outer rim was comprised largely of living quarters.  
A little bit of geometry and math, and it was easy to figure out that the place had been meant to hold a LOT of people.  
Finishing his shower, Stafford dried off and dressed in his uniform. It was the same one he'd been wearing since the Qu'Eh invasion and the colours were fading. But still, at least now he could clean the damned thing.  
Pushing the door open (the automatic systems still weren't working) he stepped out into the dimly lit corridor. As he walked to the stairway, he mused for at least the 10th time that if the lights were on full and the turbolifts were running, this would actually be a really nice place.  
So why had the Matrians buried it, then erased all records of its existence?

"Good morning everybody," Stafford said pleasantly, walking into the command center. Taking the steps two at a time, he quickly made his way to the command deck.  
"Greetings," Fifebee replied, "I am delighted to see that sleeping in a real bed again has done much to improve your mood,"  
"If you slept, Fifebee, you'd understand," Stafford replied.  
The holographic officer didn't look away from her terminal.  
Three of the control pulpits, along with the central holo-table, were now active. Unfortunately, they were no longer connected to the installation's computer system. Instead, they were connected to the small Federation computer core a band of Matrian rebels had brought to the facility. Fifebee, Jeffery and Valtaic were using the core to, among other things, build a map of the facility.  
"We found another tower," Jeffery said, "Y'know, while ye were havin' a lay-in,"  
"Hey, we're underground. How do you know whether I'm sleeping in or not?" Stafford objected.  
"I have an internal chronometer,' Fifebee stated flatly.  
"Oh. Right. What kind of tower?"  
"Dunno," Jeffery said.  
"Office," Fifebee said at the exact same time.  
"Ye can't know that!" Jeffery objected, "Valtaic's gettin' into one of the stairway's right now. Once he's in there, he'll tell us what it is."  
Fifebee tapped her panel. On the holo-table, the growing map of the facility was displayed. Fifebee zoomed into the center of the hologram, centering on the hexagon-shaped Command Tower sitting on a broad, hexagon-shaped base. Six tram tracks converged on the base, each disappearing into tunnels evenly spaced on the sides. This broad base evidently contained the Transit Hub and surrounding facilities. Six towers, their shapes indistinct, rose from the upper surface of the hub, forming half a ring around the Command Tower.  
"The towers we found at the 2, 4 and 6 o'clock positions were residential towers," Fifebee stated, "While the towers at the 1 and 3 o'clock were office or administration towers. As the new building is located at the 5 o'clock position, it is likely-"  
"OK, fine." Jeffery cut her off, then turned to Stafford, "Can't we put a little Sylvia back in her? She was so much nicer like that!"  
"I'd rather keep myself in one piece, thank you, Simon," Sylvia's voice rang out. The little neutronium box containing her core gel-pack and related processing nodes was also connected to the computer core.  
"In fact," Fifebee went on, ignoring Jeffery, "I suspect we will find a total of twelve buildings; 6 residential and 6 administrative. Given the Matrian fascination with multiples of three and six, and the-"  
"Jeffery to Valtaic," Jeffery said, tapping his comm-badge.  
"Valtiac here."  
"Talk to me. Ah need to hear a voice that isn't coming from a computer,"  
"Hey!" Stafford objected, "What am I, a robot?"  
"I am trying to concentrate on opening a door at the moment, Lt. Commander," Valtaic sounded annoyed, "If you simply wish to engage in social niceties, may I suggest that you are, as you say, barking up the wrong tree?"  
"Ah just can't win!" Jeffery groaned.  
"Had you bet on this being an administrative tower, you would have won," Valtaic's voice came back through the channel, "It appears to be very similar to the towers found at the 1 and 3-"  
"Jeffery out," Jeffery cut the channel.  
There was a moment of silence as Fifebee keyed the new information into the computer.  
"So what else is on the agenda for today?" Stafford asked.  
"You're the captain," Jeffery said, "or the Minister of Planetary Defence, dependin' on who ye ask."  
"I don't think Queen Anselia cares much about my opinion on planetary defence right now," Stafford frowned, "Not since she got her new little rebel leader,"  
The Silverado officers had found a Matrian named Craigan in stasis in a laboratory deep in the Command Tower. Nobody, including Craigan, knew why exactly he was there, but he'd kidnapped Yanick and tried to force his way out. Once he'd been made to understand that the Male Rebellion was long over and that his planet had been invaded, Craigan had agreed to work with the present-day Matrians to ferment rebellion against the Qu'Eh.  
"Craigan did give us something useful," Jeffery said, walking over the computer core, "Ye remember when he kidnapped Yanick, we had those two anomalous data transfers?"  
"Not really, but I'll take your word for it," Stafford said.  
"Well, ye see, we knew we had a data feed from somewhere, sendin' us sensor data," Jeffery said.  
"Yeah, you guys watched the whole battle from down here. Or T'Parief did anyway."  
"Well, Craigan showed us where the Old Matrian put their security readers." Stepping over to one of the inactive control pulpits, Jeffery ran a hand under one of the panels. After a moment, the computer displayed his identity, along with an 'Access Denied' error.  
"How does the computer know who you are?" Stafford asked  
"Well, the central computers in Matrian Defence HQ were loaded with security profiles for all Silverado crewmembers. Standard procedure for a member planet, so local authorities can verify our credentials and stuff."  
"You're going to have to tell me why this is important,"  
"If this sensor feed is a two-way data link to the Defence HQ computers, we can tap right in, and get whatever information we need," Jeffery said, "Maybe even access to comm channels,"  
That caught Stafford's attention.  
"Untraceable?"  
"Well, unless they follow the cable for about 4 thousand kilometres…"  
"How do you know it's untraceable," Stafford demanded.  
Jeffery and Fifebee exchanged a glance, then looked at him.  
"Would you like us to explain the technological whys and where-to-fors of the matter in detail, or would you simply like to accept the expert opinion of two highly trained individuals?" Fifebee asked conversationally.  
"Would it be a long, boring explanation?" Stafford asked.  
"Only if you find data transmission, network node shadowing and optical routing to be of interest." Fifebee replied.  
"OK, it's untraceable." Stafford nodded, "Looks like we need to have a little chat with Queen Anselia."  
"After your security check," Jeffery reminded him.  
"Right," Stafford sighed, "Goody. An all-expense paid trip to the outer rim. Then allllll the way back here again. And then a chat with politicians."  
"The exercise is good for you, Chris," Sylvia piped up.  
"Blah," Stafford grumbled, moving cautiously down the steps to the turbolifts.

Aboard a Qu'Eh vessel, high in orbit over Matria Prime, Commander San Jall was sprawled out on his prison cot, smugly contemplating existence. It had been weeks now since his capture by the Qu'Eh, and his promised torture still had yet to begin. Well, unless you counted being locked in a small room, being forced to complete reams of paperwork and eating incredibly bland Qu'Eh food as torture.  
Come to think of it, the paperwork WAS bordering on torture. Strangely, it was Jall's decision to have a bit of fun with said paperwork that had, in the end, saved his life.  
There was a hiss as his cell door opened. Supervisor Neum stepped in, a pinched expression on her face. Her Qu'Eh implant shone as if freshly polished, reflecting the boring tan colours used in the Qu'Eh ships. Jall's own implant had been deactivated after he'd been 'fired' from his job as Manager of the Resource Reclaimation, the new Qu'Eh name for the captured USS Silverado.  
"Mr. Jall, there seems to still be a few problems with your paperwork. Again." she said, sounding like Dr. Wowryk giving a review of the latest Risan pornographic holo-novel.  
"Really?" Jall said, his voice full of fake concern, "Oh dear. What's wrong?"  
"It seems," Neum said, referring to the forms Jall had filled out a few days prior, "that 'Death by Chocolate' is not a valid selection for 'Preferred Method of Death,"  
"But you have to admit," Jall quipped, "It does sound good,"  
"And under 'Most Unpleasant Form of Torture' you put down 'Being forced to watch all 4 Transformers movies'."  
"Well," Jall said, "I admit the special effects aren't bad. But the storylines? The plot-holes? If that isn't torture, sweetie, then I don't know what is!"  
"Mr. Jall, if you're not going to take this process seriously, we're never going to get anything accomplished!"  
"I'm taking it as seriously as I possibly can, Jall said truthfully.  
"Last week, your preferred death method was 'Death by Orgasm!'" Neum screamed, slamming the data padd onto the small table.  
"Yeah. Can you imagine a better way to go?"  
"You will have to fill out ALL of these forms again!" Neum snapped, slapping a stylus down next to the padd, "You've set our prisoner processing back at least another week!"  
"Oh my," Jall tried to keep a straight face, "Well, I'll try to get it right this time,"  
"See that you do!"  
With that, Neum stormed out of the cell.  
"Wow," Jall shook his head, "I don't know what the Qu'Eh have been doing for the past few decades, but torturing prisoners sure isn't it!" He frowned. "Or maybe it is. At this rate, I'll be here for a decade."  
Deciding that talking to himself was a sign that he'd been locked in that little room too long, he picked up the stylus and padd, quickly located the 'Preferred Method of Death' section, checked off 'Other' and entered in 'Death by Fellatio'.

Some time later, Craigan and Queen Anselia stepped out into the command complex of the underground installation. Stafford and his officers were gathered back around the upper-level holo-table, co-ordinating the search.  
"We have named this place," Anselia said regally, looking up towards the command deck. Stafford popped his head over the railing, was overcome by a wave of vertigo and pulled back until only his eyes were showing.  
"Really?" he squeaked, "Whatcha calling it?"  
"Haven," Anselia said proudly.  
Up on the command deck, Stafford turned back to face his people.  
"What is she saying?" Valtaic asked, looking only moderately interested.  
"She wants to call this place 'Haven'," Stafford said.  
Valtaic looked thoughtful.  
"I approve," he said, "It is simple, to the point, accurate, and does not include pointless sub-designations,"  
"She's the queen of the planet," Jeffery said, "Ah don't think she was askin' for yer approval,"  
"Does anybody object?" Stafford asked.  
Silence.  
"Does anybody really give a shit one way or another?"  
More silence.  
Shrugging, Stafford leaned back over the railing, again cursing whoever decided to put a two-story drop in the middle of a command centre.  
"Sounds good," he called.  
"We are queen of this planet," Anselia muttered as she climbed the steps to the second level, "We were not asking for your approval,"  
"Because he's a man?" Craigan asked as he followed her.  
"Because I am queen, and he is one of my ministers," Anselia replied.  
"Whom you happen to be bedding."  
"Well, yes."  
"So if you weren't sleeping with him, would his opinion matter?"  
"Hey, c'mon people," Stafford said, now less than a level above them, "I'm right here, OK?"  
"Chris, don't get emotional on me," Anselia said, "Craigan has been asking many…questions…regarding the interactions between men and women since he began working with us."  
"Trying to decide whether or not to start a new Male Rebellion?" T'Parief asked pointedly.  
"Down, big guy," Stafford muttered.  
"One rebellion at a time," Craigan said. Anselia's eyes flickered briefly in his direction, but she said nothing.  
"Speaking of rebellions," Stafford said, trying to keep the conversation in friendly territory, "How are your plans going?"  
"We have many plans," Craigan said mysteriously.  
There was a moment of silence.  
"Such as?" T'Parief prompted.  
"Well, we've considered co-ordinated strikes against Qu'Eh landing sites," Craigan said.  
"We just don't know where the landing sites are, or how we'd get anybody there. Or, for that matter, who to send in to do the actual striking," Anselia sighed.  
"We have considered using the attack ships here to target individual Qu'Eh vessels," Craigan went on.  
"Except," Fifebee cut in, "that any ships leaving this facility,"  
"Haven," Anselia interrupted.  
"Any ships leaving," Fifebee's eyes glanced over to Anselia, "Haven…risk exposing it. In addition, your entire fleet couldn't take out the Qu'Eh force. A few attack ships would be annihilated."  
More silence.  
"That's it?" Stafford asked, incredulous, "You two have been out there in the hanger bays scheming for a couple of weeks now and you haven't managed to come up with anything usable?"  
"Neither have you," Anselia said pointedly.  
"Actually, Craigan helped us out with something," Stafford said. He ran his hand along one of the hidden security readers on one of the inactive control pulpits. The display came to life, displayed 'Access Denied' in Matrian, and then went dead.  
"See," Jeffery went on, "if Ah can tap our little computer core here into the data line, we just may be able to match protocols with the source system back in Matrian Defence HQ. We could get news feeds, comm channels, maybe even-"  
Anselia, curious, had located the reader on another inactive pulpit and swiped her hand. The display screen lit up.  
ACCESS GRANTED  
Jeffery's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.  
"What did ye do?" he snapped, rushing over and practically shoving Anselia out of the way.  
"Simon," Stafford said carefully, "Please don't push the world leader around,"  
Anselia was giving Jeffery a very dark look. He ignored her.  
"Quick," Jeffery snapped, "Ah need somebody that speaks Matrian!" He pointed at the screen, "What does all this mean?"  
Anselia looked down her nose at him.  
"We will not assist you until you learn proper etiquette and protocol!" she said coldly.  
"Anselia, your Majesty, please!" Stafford pleaded, "This could be important!"  
Anselia regarded Stafford for a moment then nodded at Craigan. He and Jeffery huddled over the console for several minutes.  
"Access is still limited," Jeffery finally reported, "It's like…Ah dunno. It's like we've opened the door, but nobody's home. We've got options…see this?" he pointed at a large, circular icon in the upper corner of the screen, "This initiates the activation sequence for the whole facility! It's just not an available function. It's like…the computer is still waiting for security verification." He swiped his hand along the reader. The screen flashed red for a moment, then returned to whatever screen it was Anselia had unlocked.  
"Who would have higher-level access then the Queen of the planet?" Stafford muttered.  
"Maybe it is a military precaution," T'Parief spoke up, breaking his lengthy silence, "As Minister of Defense, are you not the Commander in Chief of the Matrian DF?"  
"Well no, the Queen is," Stafford grunted. He ran his hand over the scanner. The screen paused for a moment, then flashed red and returned to the familiar lock-out screen.  
"If everything remains locked, then what access was granted?" Valtaic asked.  
"Give me a few hours, and Ah'll tell ye," Jeffery shrugged.  
"Craigan, you will assist him," Anselia ordered. "Chris, you will accompany us. We must speak. There are tasks to be completed."  
"Oh, joy,"

"So are we making decisions about the fate of your people, or about whether to go missionary or doggy this time?" Stafford asked, following Anselia as she stepped out of the command tower turbolift and into a corridor leading out over the transit hub.  
"The fate of our people," Anselia said curtly, brushing an errant strand of hair back into place, "Since when do we ever permit you to make decisions about sex?"  
"Too true," Stafford muttered.  
"The Council has decided that this inaction is intolerable," Anselia said, "We must do something. We cannot continue waiting for your ships, if they are in fact coming,"  
"We've been over this a million times," Stafford groaned, "The Qu'Eh will detect any ships leaving this facility-"  
"Haven," Anselia said firmly.  
"Leaving Haven," Stafford rolled his eyes.  
"Then your people will have to find a way to duplicate the sensor jamming used by Haven," Anselia said simply, "And we expect you to establish whatever kind of data link you can, now that you are learning more about Haven's technology."  
Stafford gave out a sort of whine, of the kind you might expect from a child being told to do his chores.  
"Anselia, it's just not worth the risk," he said, "There are hundreds of millions of Matrians out there. What makes you think the few thousand people we've got locked up underground here can make any difference?"  
Anselia seemed to waver.  
"The Council has decided that we need to do more to encourage resistance," she said flatly.  
"But you don't agree, do you?" Stafford pounced.  
"Our people, whether they are resisting or not, still need a government," Anselia said sharply.  
"They've got one. That's why we left Laurette in charge," Stafford said, "Look, you and I, we planned this out to be a long wait. Stick with the plan!"  
"The plan is taking too long," Anselia sniffed. They'd descended down to the main concourse of the transit hub, where the tram was waiting in its berth.  
"Look, your Majesty," Stafford said firmly, "We've got to balance risks, returns and consequences here. And can you honestly say that speeding up action against the Qu'Eh is worth the chance of them finding what may be the last relic of your old Empire? Or your last historically accurate computer records?"  
Anselia hesitated, and Stafford knew he'd just hit her right where it hurt.  
"We will…encourage the council to reconsider," she said frostily.  
She suddenly lunged at Stafford and grabbed him by the shirt.  
"But first, you need to be put in your place!"

Up on one of the balconies overlooking the rings of transit tracks in the hub, Crewman Shwaluk leaned against the railing and turned to Crewman Gibson.  
"You think the Captain remembers that those trams have huge windows?" he asked.  
"I don't think he has much choice either way," Gibson said, viewing the scene playing out below them, "When the tram's a rockin', don't come a knockin'!"

For the next several hours, Jeffery, Craigan and Valtaic hunched over the control pulpit, trying to figure out just what exactly Anselia unlocked. In retrospect, Jeffery was kicking himself for not trying her sooner. After all, if the system was getting its clearance information from the central Matrian Defence HQ, who else could have had a higher access level than the queen? (Valtaic would have been kicking himself, but in his culture, sharp releases of electrical current were preferred.)  
But why hadn't she been able to unlock the entire facility? Had she even unlocked anything important?  
As it turned out, one of the systems unlocked was communications.

All across Matrian Prime, aboard the damaged Matrian ships in orbit, and on Matrian assets throughout the sector, viewscreens suddenly jumped to life, or shifted away from entertainment and news channels to show an image of an ordinary human woman, almost indistinguishable from a Matrian. Her arburn hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she wore clean but simple Matrian clothing. A Starfleet comm-badge marked her to even the more out-of-touch Matrians as an offworlder from Silverado, the ship that had had such an impact on their society. Her expression was calm, her pale skin like porcelain. The few Matrian children viewing the scene quickly recognize Hespar, a furry hamster-like animal featured on the Mr. & Mrs. Equality show.  
"People of the Matrian Republic," she said, "Many of you already know me as Dr. Noel Wowryk, an officer aboard the Federation ship Silverado. Two years ago, I came to your ruling council with a message of hope and tolerance, one that your people came to embrace. In helping to lead your defence force against the Qu'Eh invasion, I came to know as well the determination and pride your people have come to take in their new world. Now, I come to you with a different message,"  
"To the Qu'Eh, I say simply this: Leave. You are not wanted."  
Across the cities, in homes, near outside viewscreens and in workplaces, Matrians nodded in firm agreement.  
"To the people of the Matrian Republic, I say this: Your government, your true government, led by Queen Anselia, are safe. And we, the leaders of the new Matrian Rebellion, will be working to ensure that they, not invading aliens and not co-operative apologists, return to lead you into the future."  
High in orbit, aboard his flagship, Chairman P'tarek's mouth was contorted in a snarl of rage.  
"If you are with us, wait for our sign," Wowryk said, "And the revolt will begin."

Standing in the Haven command center, fully recovered from his encounter with Anselia, Stafford stared at Wowryk's image on the holo-display with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
"Jeffery, Valtaic," he said quietly, "Start working on sensor jammers for the runabouts and the Matrian ships in the hanger bay. Fifebee, I want untraceable data links and communications lines through the Defence HQ systems, including access to interstellar communications. T'Parief, I want a security team ready for an extraction in 24 hours."  
He turned and hurried down the stairs to the second level, not even glancing at the dizzying drop.  
"And where are ye going?" Jeffery asked.  
"To talk to Anselia again," Stafford replied, "Our plans just changed."

Lead Qu'Eh Vessel:

Chairman P'tarek was seated, as usual, in his lavishly comfortable office chair. His office was a study in tackiness, containing things that in moderation would add class, but in excess simply looked garish. The faux wood paneling, the gleaming replicated gold trim, the overdone mood lighting and the huge desk combined to give the impression of a man who wanted to be seen as important, rather than giving the impression of actually being important.  
Of course, since P'tarek was, at the moment, the imposed ruler of Matria Prime, he was at least moderately important.  
"No, I insist that Matrian police handle the riot in J'Taeri," he said into his earpiece, leaning back with his eyes closed, "Armed Qu'Eh guards will only legitimize their concerns, which would not be good for business," with a minute twitch of his ear cartilage he switched to another channel, receiving an immediate report on the hiring progress for their new facility in Matronus. "Only 15,354 hired to date? Unacceptable. Our contract calls for 22,653, and the penalties involved are too great to risk being understaffed. Begin conscription on nearby residents. Remind them that continued existence is a contractually-granted concession to those who continue employment. No, I don't think that threat is too subtle, I'm sure the Matrians can pick up on it."  
A soft beeping notified him that one of his assistants had a priority message for him. With an annoyed shake of his head, he switched channels.  
"Silverado has received a response to their last transmission,"  
P'tarek's eyes flew open and he rocketed out of his chair.  
"And?" he demanded.  
"It says simply 'Help is on the way',"  
P'tarek took a deep breath, his ear cartilage twining in irritation, and bouncing him through half a dozen different data channels before he could bring himself under control. If the Starfleeters were telling the truth, and their ship was in fact only a moderately powerful Federation vessel…  
"Get me a communications link to the Shareholders," P'tarek said, "We're going to need an additional investment of assets if this report is reliable."

Stafford had taken the turbolift down the central tower to the lift atrium/lobby/whatever and nearly jogged down the corridor, across an enclosed bridge hugging the ceiling of the transit hub, down at least three flights of stairs and through another broad corridor and finally, breathing hard, onto the transit platform. Swearing when he noticed that the tram was gone, he started pacing, fuming over the idiot Matrian design. If this had been a ship or a starbase, he could have taken the damned lift all the way out to the hanger. Finally, an empty tram pulled up. He boarded, rode out to the outer rim, passing another tram on the way, jogged down another half dozen corridors and took another stairway up 5 levels to the hanger bay control booth that Anselia had co-opted as her new council chamber.  
"Where's Anselia?" he demanded, "We need to change our plans!"  
Anselia's advisors simply stared at him, then sighed.

Up in the command tower, Anselia emerged from the central turbolift cluster looking somewhat out of breath in her royal finery.  
"Were is Minister Stafford?" she demanded, "We must speak to him immediately!"  
"Oy vay," Burke sighed, slapping a hand over his face.

After managing to miss each other twice more, Stafford and Anselia finally caught up to each other in the transit hub.  
"We've got to change our plans," Stafford said.  
"Dr. Wowryk's broadcast changes nothing," Anselia said at the exact same moment.  
They stared at each other for a moment.  
"WHAT?" they both exclaimed.

"This isn't going to be pretty, is it?" Crewman Shwaluk commented, still leaning on the railing overlooking the transit platform and the two arguing figures.  
"No monkey, no it isn't," Crewman Gibson said back.  
"Dude, don't we have like, work or something we're supposed to be doing?"  
"Probably," Gibson shrugged, "Do you care?"  
"Well, no."

"What do you mean it changes nothing?" Stafford snapped, "We just found out there's an active rebellion out there! With my people involved, no less! We've got ships, supplies, and an un-findable hiding place! They need us!"  
"Oh, this is coming from Minister 'They-Must-Not-Find-Us'?" Anselia shot back, "Why is it that a few of your people are suddenly worth risking the knowledge and information stored in Haven's memory banks?"  
"Because…well…" Stafford stammered, "I mean, we know what's going on out there now!"  
"Yes, we do!" Anselia snapped, "Exactly what we had hoped would happen! If Wowryk is providing leadership to the rebels, she is becoming exactly the symbol that the council felt it had to become!"  
"So now your council thinks it's better to just sit safely on their collective asses while my doctor does their job?!" Stafford was shocked, "If we can get Wowryk out of there and in here, she can tell us all kinds of useful stuff about the Qu'Eh! She probably even knows what happened to the people I left on Silverado! You and I don't even know what they've been doing all this time!"  
"Can we not learn this from the data link you are establishing with Defence HQ?" Anselia raised one slim eyebrow, "Can your people not access Matrian DHQ files and reports?"  
"Some of them," Stafford conceded, "But anything that Dr. Wowryk doesn't want the Qu'Eh to find out won't be in there. We need to get her back, and if we can communicate with the Rebellion from here without being detected, we can really start causing trouble."  
"Yes, then the government AND the rebel leaders will be hiding here while other people take all the risks," Anselia cocked her head, "I can see how the rebels will respect us for that,"  
"Like they'll respect us any more for hiding down here and staying TOTALLY out of the fight?" Stafford shot back.  
"Admit it, Christopher," Anselia said coldly, "If that transmission had been sent by a Matrian, you would not be so eager to 'extract' her. This is about getting all of your people out of harms way and into Haven,"  
"Oh, yeah, and I'm also going to plan a prison break to get the people the Qu'Eh captured from Silverado when she was disabled," Stafford snapped, "Then I'll fly into orbit and get the ship too, then come single-handedly to the rescue. C'mon, Anselia, I'm not stupid! I'm doing what I think is best!"  
"We do not dispute that," Anselia said, "But we dispute your definition of 'best'."  
"I want to get sensor-jamming working on one of our ships," Stafford said, "I want to get lines of communication open, and I want to bring the leaders of the rebellion back here to help us run this show. This is the best thing for us to do!"  
Anselia took a deep breath. He was basically shooting the council's earlier demands back at her, while conveniently forgetting the arguments he'd used against her.  
This was no longer a decision they could make on their own.  
"I will consult with the Counsel," she said.

Up until recently, the Matrian Council of Governors (at least the portion that had escaped) had been meeting in cramped locations around the Matrian hanger bay. Inside the cargo hold of a scout ship, up in the hanger bay control booth, or in a small machine shop just off the main level of the bay. Now that more of the outer rim of the installation had been explored, they'd started convening in the large sports-bar type lounge overlooking the shipyard that Yanick had found over a week ago. The lights were dim and the entertainment console was locked, however the replciators functioned well enough to provide them with the hot beverages and pastries they so craved during their multi-hour sessions.  
"The plan is sound," declared Governor Kesthen, the dark-haired male representative from J'Taeri district once Anselia had explained Stafford's proposal.  
"The plan is a Starfleet fantasy," snapped Governor Hands, the blond man from Yutule district, "So long as this base-"  
"Haven," Anselia corrected.  
"Whatever. So long as this base is secured, we're safe. So is the past and the future of our people. To risk that is the ultimate stupidity,"  
"You weren't so resistant when we were trying to get communications lines open," accused Governess Basette, a woman with raven-black hair and a somewhat plump build, "You think it's a good idea to start tapping around MDHQ computers, right under the Qu'Eh noses, but actually getting out and involved is too big a risk?"  
"Tapping around computers is a bit different from flying ships right in and out of our doorstep!"  
"It's our people living out at the Rim that need to worry," Governess Samatat declared, "The Starfleeters are living on an island. Even if the Qu'Eh break down the hanger door, it would take ages for them to break through to the Starfleet camp!"  
"-Matrian installation anyway," somebody else shouted, "Why are we out living in the slums while they're holed up in the power center?"  
As the infighting continued, Anselia sighed. How had the discussion gone from discussing plans to help the rebellion to a dispute over living accommodations?  
"We should demand that Starfleet trade places with us at once," declared Samatat, "Put the soldiers out on the front lines, not the people!"  
"Do we have a motion?" asked the Council Secretary.  
"Counter-point!" Anselia snapped, "Have any of you actually explored the center island?"  
Almost every member of the council held up a hand. Strange, even trapped underground they still seemed to have time for their manicures.  
"I mean other than poking your noses in the command center?"  
All the hands dropped.  
"And have any of you brought this point up with Lt. Yanick, our liason?"  
"Well, no,"  
"They'd never listen," Basette scoffed.  
"Why should they give up a safe and secure space for us?" Hands demanded.  
"Let it be motioned that we shall demand living space on the central island," Anselia stated imperiously, in an attempt to end the argument.  
"Seconded!"  
The vote, of course, carried.  
"Now, can we PLEASE get back to the issue of whether or not to fully involve ourselves in the Matrian Rebellion?"  
"Because your man-toy wants us to?" Samatat gave Anselia a look of disdain, "Or because you wish to play the heroine?"  
Craigan, as an observer to the council, had been silent up until that point.  
"You all asked me to help you plan out ways to resist the Qu'Eh. We really didn't come up with much."  
"As I knew you wouldn't, " Basatte said smugly.  
"Things have changed." Craigan said.  
"You've been influenced by this one and by Stafford," Basatte said to Anselai, "We can no longer trust your judgement in these matters."  
"Point of Fact," spoke up Kesthen, "Motions of no-confidence cannot be called during time of-"  
"I don't need a formal motion to declare my lack of confidence," Basatte shot back.  
And the squabbling went on.

Matrian Installation 317

Stafford was sitting on a crate in the Matrian hanger, waiting for word from the Council. The hanger had gone from a bustling hub of activity, with bedrolls and makeshift tables covering every surface, to a ghost-town as the Matrian refugees moved into the more comfortable quarters found deeper in the rim. Next to him, Yanick was leaning against a wall, massaging her belly and looking vaguely ill.  
Finally, a council page approached.  
"Mr. Minister, I'm afraid the council is still deliberating," the page reported.  
"Still? They've been in there for nearly 8 hours!" Stafford objected.  
"Ah, I believe there is a minor dispute over rations at the moment. They're trying to decide whether or not to demand that food be shipped here from the central island," the page reported.  
"Um, why?"  
"It is believed that the replicators in the central areas are of higher quality than those in the rim,"  
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard,"  
"Concerns over the security of the Matrian history stored here,"  
"Not new,"  
"And the question of whether or not to repaint this hanger red,"  
"What?" Stafford looked at the metallic blue walls, "If you paint over the metal, it's probably just…what am I saying?"  
He paced for several moments in silent fury, his mouth half-forming words that never made it past his lips..  
"Look, I'm coming back in 4 hours.," he finally said, "By then Jeffery and Valtaic are sure they'll have a ship setup with decent sensor-jamming. I want a council decision by then,"  
"You…should not give ultimatums to the council," the page said worriedly.  
"Then the council needs to hurry up," Stafford said, "They've had weeks to take their time. Now it's time to move quickly."  
He turned and started back to the transit station.  
"C'mon Yanick," he said, "You don't look that great. Take the rest of the day off. I hear somebody got a steam room running in the fitness center. Y'know…just no lights."  
"Uh-huh," Yanick muttered.  
"What happened to you, eat a bad ration pack? I thought we'd switched over to the replicators,"  
"Must have been a bad Matrian meatloaf," Yanick groaned.  
"Ah well. Once we get Noel back, she can check you out,"

"Sylvia, Fifebee, I have a new job for you," Stafford said on arriving back in the command center. The trek between the Matrian hanger and the command complex was really becoming a drag, "And I really need a chair right now. All these stairs are killing my thighs."  
"I doubt this is going to be something fun like figuring out how to get pumpkin pie out of a Matrian replicator," Sylvia said, amused.  
"Nooo." Stafford shook his head, "I need to get you hooked in to some of the Old Matrian ships. And we need to find the memory storage cores for this place."  
"Christopher, even if we find the storage units, without access to the facility computer systems the decoding, decrypting and interpreting of raw memory data could take months, if not years," Sylvia said.  
"We're not worried about that right now," Stafford said, "We're making a backup."  
"A backup?"  
"In case the Qu'Eh manage to damage the computer cores here,"  
"Then we're taking action?" T'Parief demanded eagerly.  
"The council hasn't decided yet," Stafford said, rolling his eyes dramatically.  
T'Parief was quiet for a moment.  
"Then we're taking action?" he repeated.  
"Hell yeah, we're taking action!" Stafford said, "Starting by contacting our people. Jeffery, do we have access to MDHQ comms yet?"  
"Aye," Jeffery said.  
"Gimmi," Stafford said, "Let's start by calling Jall."

An hour and several unsuccessful attempts later, Stafford was resting his forehead on the holotable.  
"Stafford to Stern," he said, sounding incredibly bored, "Stafford to Stern, please come in,"  
"You are certain that the communications protocols have been properly interfaced?" Sylvia asked Fifebee.  
"Mr. Jeffery confirmed with a successful call-in to 'Good Morning Matria', "Fifebee answered, "Before he and Mr. Valtaic went to work on the sensor shielding. The comm system is working,"  
"Maybe he's getting busy and has to call us back?" Burke suggested.  
"No, I didn't think Stern's going to answer," Stafford said, lifting his head from the table, "But I'm trying anyway. All I'm getting is really weird squishing sounds."  
"We could try Dr. Wowryk again," Fifebee suggested.  
It had been no small feat, working with Fifebee, Sylvia and T'Parief to get a comm-channel through the fancy, untraceable connection between Haven and MDHQ, past the firewalls and monitoring systems, through the MDHQ comm-array and out to a working comm-badge. They'd started with Commander Jall and started working their way down the chain of MIA crewmembers. Most of their hails had been unanswered; either because the person in question was out of comm range, didn't have a comm-badge, or had been killed.  
Well, from what they knew, the first two seemed more likely.  
"No, I don't want to try calling Dr. Wowryk again, she might be…BURKE!" Stafford snapped, "You're supposed to be finding useful information in the MDHQ network, not checking out Crewman Gibson's porn collection!"  
"But have you seen the rack on this blond?" Burke objected, "That's a work of art!"  
"Yeah, she does have a great rack, but that's not the-"  
"Nice tits are always the point," Stern's voice came over the comm channel.  
"STERN?" Stafford nearly fell off his chair, "Hey guys! We have a contact!"  
"Now really isn't a good time, Captain!" Stern said, "We've infiltrated the Qu'Eh call-center near Matronus,"  
"What call-center?" Stafford asked, "Who's 'we'? Why are you-"  
"Look, I don't have much time," Stern said, "The Qu'Eh are exploiting Matrians to staff this mega-sized call center near Matronus."  
"Why would they do that?"  
"Just how out of touch have you people been?" Stern demanded.  
"We've been in this bunker for the past three weeks!" Stafford snapped, "If you could give us even the tiniest hint of what's going on out there…  
"Dr. Wowryk is running our part of the rebellion from under Matronus. She says the Qu'Eh are holding the rest of the crew captive aboard Silveardo, but Jall broke her loose. They're actually trying to fix the ship!  
"Fix my ship?" Stafford was shocked. The last he'd known, Silverado had been intentionally sabotaged during the Battle for Matria Prime. He figured the Qu'Eh had either blown it up or left it to rot in the giant pile of orbital trash circling Matria. But to repair it?  
He shook his head.  
"What have the Qu'Eh on the planet been doing?" he asked.  
"Aside from arresting people, taking over the government and implanting people with those control devices? Oh, they were searching the caverns under the Matrian cities," Stern recalled, "They were looking for intact M-SIDs"  
"Ohh, not more people wanting to play mind games," Stafford groaned.  
"That's exactly what they want, sir," Stern said, "The way I see it, they want to put the M-SIDs in their call centers to force they're employees to –"  
"Just stop right there," Stafford said, "You think they invaded an entire planet, at the cost of hundreds if not thousands of lives, just to get their hands on technology that would help them enslave and degrade their employees?"  
"Not just that," Stern said, "If they had an M-SID, they could convince all their employees just how wonderful their jobs were. Complete brainwashing."  
"K, but the Matrians destroyed the M-SIDs. Why haven't the Qu'Eh left?"  
"Because even without the M-SIDs, they just got their hands on an entire planet's worth of potential employees," Stern said.  
"Um, wouldn't they have enough people on their own planet?" Stafford asked.  
"Sir, have you studied the Corporate Riots of Earth? If they Qu'Eh are running their empire the same way the old Earth call centers did…"  
"They'd need entire planets of slaves just to handle employee turnover," Stafford sighed.  
"Gotta go," Stern hissed suddenly, closing the channel.  
Leading back against the central holo-table, an Old Matrian earpiece still in one ear, Stafford frowned as Stern's channel closed. The security officer, along with most of the Hazardous Team, was reportedly working undercover in a Qu'Eh call center. It had been weeks since Stafford had been able to speak with any of his offers not in the underground installation, and the chance to get caught up on a few goings-on was one that he'd badly needed.  
With that thought, Stafford was nearly bowled over by a tidal-wave of relief. The people on his ship were still safe, so far as Stern knew. They were even trying to repair her, though if the Qu'Eh were able to get their hands on a fully functional Federation ship there'd be hell to pay.  
"Isn't it nice to finally get a bit of news?" Sylvia said, an encouraging smile on her face.  
"It is," Stafford said, "T'Parief, let's go,"  
T'Parief immediate jumped to his feet, claws bared.  
"And where are you going?" Fifebee inquired, "We still have eighty crewmembers we can attempt to contact,"  
"Didn't you hear Stern?" Stafford asked, "Except for the HT and Wowryk, everybody's still on the ship,"  
"Well, since you wore your earpiece for the entire conversation, I did not, in fact, hear Stern," Fifebee said crossly.  
"We're getting Wowryk and the HT and we're bringing them back here," Stafford said firmly, "It's time we got ourselves more involved in this rebellion, and I don't care what Anselia and her council have to say about it,"  
With that, he stood, turned and walked back down the stairs to the turbolift, T'Parief at his heels like an eager hunting dog.  
Fifebee and Sylvia exchanged a glance as the doors hissed shut.  
"Shall we try contacting the next eighty anyway?" Sylvia suggested.  
"Yes, I do enjoy a mindless, repetitive task every once in a while," Fifebee agreed, picking up Stafford's discarded earpiece.  
Downstairs, the turbolift doors hissed open again.  
"Chris, what did you forget this time?" Sylvia called, "Really, how can you expect to lead you people on a dangerous extraction mission when you can't even remember your own gear?"  
Two flights of stairs below, Queen Anselia stood in the turbolift, a very dark expression growing on her face.  
Sylvia smiled as the doors hissed shut.  
"That boy," she chuckled.

Stafford and T'Parief exited the stairwell a level above the hanger deck  
While the computer systems remained solidly locked, Jeffery and Valtaic had learned how to operate the manual controls on some hanger systems, such as the doors and the movable landing platforms. As it turned out, the large, patterned indents on the hanger roof that happened to match the shape of the platforms were actually large, retractable trap doors. Opening them up, Jeffery had found a reasonably well equipped maintenance facility and had proceeded to raise one of the landing platforms, complete with ship, into the shop to begin his work.  
Stafford and T'Parief stepped into the workshop to see the landing platform sitting above the closed doors. On it, a sleek Senousian scout ship sat. Jeffery and Valtaic were just closing up some of the access hatches on the exterior.  
"Nice workshop, Jeffery," Stafford commented.  
"Aye, but Ah don't know what half these tools do," Jeffery complained, "And the lights are too dim. And the computers don't work, and-"  
"We decided on using one of the Senousian ships," Valtaic explained, "The smoother surface and reduced profile make it easier to adapt the sensor-shielding,"  
"I hope you asked the Senousians first," Stafford commented.  
"Ah tried," Jeffery said, "But from the sounds comin' out of their quarters, Ah think they're worried about other stuff,"  
"Arguments?" Stafford was surprised. The Senousians had been the easiest group to deal with by far, keeping largely to themselves and asking for nothing more than their share of food and water. And an above-average share of prophylactics.  
Jeffery looked uncomfortable.  
"Chris…they're Senousians," he said.  
Stafford looked at him blankly.  
"And?"  
"They were engaged in an orgy," Valtaic said briskly, "They kindly invited us to attend, however my culture finds such things distasteful. And Mr. Jeffery is sexually crippled by his lust for Dr. Wowryk. Can we go now?"  
"Yeah," Stafford said, eyebrows near his hairline, "let's-"  
"MINISTER STAFFORD!"  
"Uh-oh," Stafford groaned. Queen Anselia was stalking into the workshop from the door at the far left.  
"Prepare to receive your whipping," T'Parief said, giving his captain a slightly smug expression.  
"T'PARIEF! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"  
They looked up to see Lieutenant Yanick stalking into the workshop from the far right.  
"Right back at ya, big guy," Stafford said, patting T'Parief on the back.  
"We're just going to…go...start the prelaunch…" Jeffery said. He grabbed Valtaic by the arm, wincing as a spark of energy cracked. The two retreated into the ship.

"What's going on?" Yanick demanded, cornering T'Parief in the corridor, "I left my quarters to see if you wanted to get some soup, and here I find you about to take off on some kind of mission?"  
"I am Chief of Security," T'Parief said, "It is what I do,"  
Inwardly, he sighed. He should have known this was going to happen. He'd been so eager to get the heck out of the installation and into some action that he'd followed Stafford out to the hanger bay without a second thought. Now Yanick was giving him that same pouty/sad expression she'd given him weeks ago. He'd thought that the events surrounding her kidnapping by Craigan had put an end to that particular issue.  
But maybe not.  
T'Parief tried to let his emotions fade, to use the analytical, reptilian part of his mind. Hmmm. Nope. Now Yanick was making his stomach grumble. OK, no more reptilian analysis.  
An idea struck.  
"I have an opportunity to bring Noel back," he said, "She's in a great deal of danger in Matronus, as long as the Qu'Eh are looking for her. We need to bring her back. Just as I brought you back from Craigan,"  
"Oh, so Noel's as important to you as I am now?" Yanick snapped.  
T'Parief just stared at her.  
"Ohhh…then I'm coming with you!" she snapped, "you need a pilot!"  
"The captain-"  
"Can kiss my ass!" Yanick shouted, "if you're all doing this, then I'm coming with! And if you have a problem with that, then you can join him!"  
"In the mission, or in kissing your ass?" T'Parief wondered.  
But Yanick was already stalking towards the ship.

"You cannot go," Anselia said, "I forbid it,"  
"You forbid it, or the council forbids it?" Stafford asked, crossing his arms. Yanick and T'Parief had taken the corridor for their spat, leaving Stafford and Anselia in a stairwell.  
"Both," Anselia replied, "The council has decreed that no more than two ships may leave Haven at any point,"  
"Good, cuz I was only going to take one," Stafford shrugged.  
"And that the Minister of Planetary Defence and all other essential personnel will not depart this facility,"  
"Awww," Stafford grinned, "You guys think I'm essential. That's so…wait. No! Anselia, I'm going on this mission. Period."  
"Given the manner in which you've dictated terms to them in the past few days, defying the council would be a political mistake," Anselia said.  
"I don't care. I hate politics," Stafford said. He stepped into the corridor and started walking towards the hanger bay and the ship.  
"I forbid it!" Anselia said again, "As your Queen, I forbid you to take part in this mission."  
"Yeah, well as your Minister of Planetary Defence, I say I go," Stafford snapped back.  
"If you defy me, Chrisopher, I will have your resignation!" Anselia fumed.  
"Why wait? You can have it now," Stafford shrugged, continuing on his way, "You put me in this job, I never applied for it. Oh, and look, I'm still a Starfleet captain, and the ranking officer here. See you after the mission."  
"If you step into that ship, we are through!"  
Stafford had reached the ship. He took one step into the hatch.  
"The Federation is going to be here to fulfill it's obligations to Matria," Stafford said, "But I won't be. A few weeks, maybe a month down the road, I'll be gone, you'll have a new plaything and a new Minister of Planetary Defence. But I'm still going to have Noel, Simon, Trish and the rest of my people. And that kind of lasting relationship trumps anything you can offer,"  
He let the hatch close, leaving Anselia fuming in the workshop.

"That was sweet, Chris," Yanick said as Stafford stepped into the small cockpit.  
"Aye. Gave me the warm 'n fuzzies, Jeffery agreed.  
"T'Parief, what's she doing here?" Stafford demanded.  
"Either she pilots, or we both have to kiss her ass," T'Parief replied.  
"Ewww,"  
T'Parief inclined his head as if to say 'and there you go'.  
"So I guess ye won't be getting any more Matrian booty," Jeffery commented.  
"I'm sure having Noel back will make up…for…it…" Stafford trailed off.  
"Awww crap." He sighed. "Look, just launch the ship. Let's go."  
"Frat, open 'er up," Jeffery ordered into his Matrian comm-badge.  
There was a rumble as the door beneath their platform split, the segments retracting out of the way as the entire landing platform shuddered then eased down into the hanger bay. Looking at the viewscreen Stafford could see one section of the huge hanger door easing open, revealing the desert outside.  
"Sensor jamming online," Valtaic reported, "we are also relying heavily on antigrav, to avoid leaving a drive trail,"  
"Hope ye practiced on the old Wraith simulators, Trish," Jeffery said.  
"Hmm? Oh, whatever," Yanick shrugged."  
"Power up essential systems only," Stafford ordered.  
"We already did that," Valtaic corrected him.  
"Then let's go,"  
The small Senousian scout lifted off the landing platform, then eased out of the bay. With a pulse from its antigravity drive, the ship soared off over the desert.

End

As Stafford and Jeffery rush to her rescue, Wowryk and the HT embark on a dangerous mission to sabotage the Qu'Eh.


	7. Action Plan

Star Traks: Silverado

5.7 – Action Plan

Matria Prime: The Evendra Desert

Invasion of Matria Prime +22 Days, +/- 1 Day, accurate to 85% 19 times out of 20

"I'M GONNA PUKE!"  
"WHERE'S THE BARF BAGS?"  
BBZZZZZTTTT!  
"Hey, keep that energy thingy under control, you're messing with the flight circuitry!"  
"I do beg your pard-AHHH!"  
Stafford, Jeffery, Valtaic, T'Parief and Yanick were all crammed into the cockpit of a small Senousian vessel as it flew, or rather, skipped across the desert, mere minutes after leaving the exposed hanger bay of the underground Old Matrian installation. Lieutenant Yanick sat at the helm, frantically adjusting the controls as the small ship bounced around them. Only T'Parief seemed unbothered by the spine-jolting bumps.  
"Look, I'm flying on anti-grav pulses here!" she cried, "If you think YOU can fly this thing without being detected by the Qu'Eh, BE MY GUEST!"  
Stafford twined his fingers into his restraints and squeezed his eyes shut.  
"Just wake me when it's over!" he moaned.  
In an effort to leave as little a drive trail as possible, Yanick was keeping the ship in the air with only brief pulses of power to the anti-gravity units. The technique had been used for hundreds of years, mostly to avoid detection when studying planets with 20th Century level technology. Granted, the Qu'Eh had sensor systems the average 20th Century level planet didn't, but Stafford was relying on Jeffery and Valtaic's rigged sensor jammers to help with that. The problem was that inertial dampeners just couldn't cope with the crazy pogo-stick style flight path that had resulted from the anti-grav hops. The end result being, well.  
"BLLAAAHHHHH!"  
"Did he get the bag?" Yanick called, "Please tell me he got the bag!"  
"He got…most of the bag," Valtaic replied, glancing over one shoulder.  
The ground underneath them was gradually changing from the arid sand of the desert to the more rocky coastal terrain found near one of Matria's major oceans. From there they could take a direct path to the outskirts of Matronus.  
"How much longer is this gonna take?" Stafford groaned.  
"Oh, just an hour or so," Yanick shrugged, "Plenty of time to get used to it."  
"Excellent," T'Parief smiled.

Matronus:

As Yanick piloted the Senousian ship halfway across the planet, the Hazardous Team was just getting up.  
"I can't go through another day of that," Ensign Simmons said. His bedroll, borrowed from the Matrian rebels, was pushed up against one wall and at least 20 meters from everybody else. (This was due to the homemade explosive he was now sleeping with like a teddy-bear.)  
"I agree," Marsden groaned, "And this rock floor is doing horrible things to my spine! I can't take those office chairs on top of this!"  
"I'd rather not have my head blown off for being late," Stern said, fingering the explosive 'loyalty collar' Quali-Tech had installed.  
"Who's ready for breakfast!?" a far too cheerful voice called. Jural, Wowryk's contact in Matrian Intelligence, entered the rocky cavern/room with a steaming tray, "I made splakrats for everybody!"  
"They're actually very good," Wowryk told them, following him into the room. She was still munching on a round…something.  
"What are they?" Simmons asked.  
"Ohh, ground Spla rats, a little grub seasoning and some of that Tabasco stuff I found in your ration packs," Jural said cheerfully.  
Stern turned away and started dry-heaving.  
"WELL!" Jural snapped, slamming the tray down and looking offended, "Fine! Be that way!"  
He turned and stormed out of the room.  
Everybody glared at Stern.  
"Great, I've got a strategy-planning meeting with him and Laheya this morning!" Wowryk cried, "And now he's going to be in an unholy mood!"  
"Not to mention he probably won't cook for us anymore," Simmons said, grabbing a splakrat off the tray.  
"What?" Stern asked innocently, "I was just getting my hidden comm badge back!" he held up the small device he'd just forced up.  
"That's disgusting," Wowryk said.  
"It would have been more disgusting if I'd tried bringing it up AFTER breakfast, believe you me!"  
"So who are you calling?" Wowryk asked.  
"I thought we'd try calling Stafford. After breakfast," he clarified.  
"Leave it with me then," Wowryk said, "You four are going to work,"  
"Why?" Simmons asked, "don't we know enough about Quali-Tech already?"  
"You can never have too much information," Wowryk said primly, "According to Jural, anyway. Besides, if you get fired it'll be harder to blow parts of it up later, right?"  
"Ohhh, right," Simmons said, thoughtfully caressing his bomb.

"Have you reacquired their signal yet?" Manager Garer asked.  
"Nothing yet," replied Har, one his Garer's most trusted Supervisors, "I've got three Representatives assigned to monitoring the intruders. We lost their signal in the underground transit system last night. We assume they're hiding in the cavern or in tunnels under the city, where the rock may be blocking the tracking signal."  
"Their shift starts in half an hour," Garer fretted, "They've got to show up soon!"  
"Don't worry, Manager," Garer said, "The moment the Chairman decides he wants them brought in, we can send the Trackers down into the tunnels to flush them out.  
"Yes, yes that is something of a comfort," Garer agreed.

"All of our plans depend on us remaining hidden here," Mistress Laheya, one of the leaders of the Matrian Rebellion (formerly called the Females Against Male Integration and for Negative Evolution) said, "That's a risk we just can't take. The Qu'Eh were already poking around the main cavern looking for functional Dream Machines, you know they could start searching these tunnels at any time!"  
"I don't understand why they haven't already," Agent Jural said. Wowryk had managed to calm him down after his earlier temper tantrum, "They're the single most obvious hiding place in the city,"  
"Maybe that's why?" Laheya suggested, "they're so obvious we'd be idiots to be using them?"  
"That implies that we're idiots," Jural said crossly, "Which I don't for a moment believe."  
"More likely the Qu'Eh aren't willing to invest the manpower for such a search, given that the rebellion really hasn't DONE ANYTHING SO FAR!" Laheya shouted.  
Wowryk had a sudden thought.  
"We're like a disease," she said calmly, "We're lurking deep in the cells while the body's immune system is too busy dealing with an infection in the bloodstream to come after us,"  
"Oh right, you used to be a doctor," Laheya inclined her head.  
"When an infection focuses on a particular organ, I can more easily identify it and come up with a method of treatment," Wowryk went on, having unconsciously slipped into her professional 'talking to patients' voice, "It's when the unholy sickness moves or remains hidden that my job is made harder."  
"So it's agreed, we have to move our base of operations," Jural said, with an air of finality.  
"More than that," Wowryk went on, "Nobody has died from a virus or bacteria that simply sits in their system and does nothing. We've sent out spies, we've issued an ultimatum to the Qu'Eh. But if we do not become bloated tumour in the heart of the Qu'Eh, we'll never defeat them,"  
"Are you trying to make a point, or just upset my stomach?" Jural asked.  
"I'm saying," Wowryk shot back, "That we need to start some of our plans into action now. Tonight. And Quali-Tech is only the beginning."

"Thank you for calling…um…" Ensign Simmons hunted around on his work screen for his greeting script. He had no idea if the incoming call was for Galicti-Cast, Robellus or one of the other dozen companies the Qu'Eh did business with "um, Robellus. "This is Simmons. How may I help you today?"  
Five minutes later, he was hanging up on a very upset customer who screamed insults over his parentage.  
"Excellent call, Simmons," Supervisor Mofuut said, "You followed the call flow exactly! Of course, it would be better if you used your first name."  
"I don't remember it," Simmons said quietly.  
"Yes well, we'll have to deduct some points for that. Also, your tone, it just wasn't fully natural. You hesitated, and you missed at least five opportunities for friendly banter."  
"I don't think she wanted to be friendly,"  
"Yes, well. Anyway, I'm afraid that call didn't meet minimum standards. Shall we say five minutes?"  
Mofuut pressed his hand against a panel on Simmons' desk, then tapped a button. Restraints suddenly jumped out, clamping Simmons to the chair. Shocks of energy started running through him, causing his body to jolt.  
"I'm sure you'll do better on your next call," Mofuut said cheerfully.  
Two desks over, Lt. Cmdr Stern had just finished following his troubleshooting flow for a Bhell customer.  
"Monsters," Stern muttered under his breath, watching as Simmons jerked and twitched..  
"I beg your pardon, young woman?" his customer asked.  
"I'm sorry, just talking to myself. " Stern said. He didn't bother correcting her on his gender, it would just cost him quality points. Besides, for all he knew, on her planet he would be considered a woman. Just where in the galaxy did the Qu'Eh get their customer base? "Um, I would be more than happy to send you a replacement part. You're under warranty, so of course it's at no charge. And you'll find the installation is fairly easy. It should only take you four or five hours,"  
"I insist you send a technician to install it for me!"  
"I'm sorry, that's against policy, as you only have the standard warranty," Stern read, word-for-word, off the screen.  
Of course, the conversation went predictably downhill from there.  
The second his break started, Stern hunted for his team. Simmons and Marsden were still out on the call floor but Rengs was sitting miserably in a corner chair.  
"Enough of this," he said quietly, "We're not waiting for Wow…for you know who. We're taking action now."  
He looked around.  
"And by now, I mean as soon as Simmons and Marsden have their break.

Stafford and Jeffery sat side by side on a Matronus travel tram. They'd left Yanick, Valtaic and T'Parief guarding the ship and ready to rush in for an extraction in the event things went wrong. Stafford had lost count of just how many times he'd been forced to leave T'Parief behind because the reptile officer just couldn't blend in with a crowd. Stafford himself had used a follicle stimulator to give himself a big, bushy beard while Jeffery had plastered a big rub-on tattoo onto the side of his face.  
"How are we going to find them, anyway?" Jeffery asked.  
"According to Stern we have to ride this thing to Salet Station. Then we call and get somebody to come get us," he held up the small Matrian comm-badge he held.  
"Is that thing even going to work outside the bunker?" Jeffery asked.  
"Hey, you're the engineer. You tell me."  
Nearby, a Matrian couple exchanged glances.  
"If these are the best rebels we have, our civilization is doomed," the woman remarked.  
"Hey, we're not rebels!" Stafford objected.  
"Of course not. That's why you're not wearing goofy disguises and not talking about bunkers and meetings," the man replied.  
"Yeah well, you're just…taking things out of context!" Jeffery insisted.  
The tram hissed to a stop. A sign declared them to be at Vedret Station. The couple stood.  
"Just be careful," the woman admonished them, "Qu'Eh patrols are always sweeping the tram system."  
"And if you blow up any of our friends, we'll turn you in!" the man said sassily.  
"Best of luck," the woman nodded, then they stepped off the tram.  
Stafford and Jeffery exchanged a glance as the tram shot back into motion.  
"She's got to be a grade-school teacher, or somethin'," Jeffery said.  
"Yeah, I haven't been told to play nice like that in years," Stafford frowned.

"I want to hit the Qu'Eh landing fields at the Matronus Spaceport," Laheya was saying, gesturing at a map. Around them, rebels were packing up what supplies they had and preparing them to move to a new location, "They're still using their ships for all of their planetary troop movement. If we can cut that off, they'll have to depend on local transport."  
"That would make them very vulnerable," Jural agreed.  
"What about the spaceports in your regional capitols?" Wowryk wanted to know, "Matronus is the key city on this continent, but there's the southern hemisphere to consider,"  
"If we can make Matronus unusable to them, they'll be forced to either move the entire government to the southern hemisphere or to separate their occupation troops from their central command," Laheya said, "Either works to our advantage,"  
"I see," Wowryk said. In truth, she really didn't. She'd been able to function as Jall's first officer during the battle because like all Starfleet officers she had some training in command and tactics, at least as far as they related to space battle. But planning this sort of…insurgency…was something far beyond her. She suspected it was largely beyond Jural as well, leaving them both somewhat dependant on Laheya for direction.  
On the other hand, Laheya only had the loyalty of the old FAMINE rebels, a fairly small group that Governess Laurette had been trying to fund to overthrow Queen Anselia's government. Their ranks had been swelling since the invasion, but most of the new members were loyal to Anselia's idea of a free and equal Matria for all Matrians. Without Wowryk acting as a symbol of that idea, Laheya couldn't control the growing rebel organization.  
The comm-badge Wowryk had taken from Stern chirped. She stepped discreetly away from the planning table.  
"I want immediate attacks here and here," Jural said, pointing to the map, "A communications switching station and a deuterium processing plant. Aim to disable, not to destroy. Oh blast, I chipped a nail!"  
"Runners!" Layheya snapped her fingers. Two young Matrian, a man and a woman, jogged over. Laheya quickly outlined the targets and the timings.  
"Go find the Bevin district cell," she ordered, "They're closest to the targets."  
The two rebels nodded, then ran off into the tunnels.  
Wowryk had returned to the table.  
"We have a problem," she said.  
"We have many problems," Jural said, patting her arm.  
"What kind of problem?" Laheya demanded.  
"The political kind," Wowryk sighed, "And the commanding officer kind,"

"We're blowing up the transceiver array," Stern said quietly. He had gathered with Rengs, Marsden and Simmons during their lunch break, "Now. Then we're getting out of here."  
"G-Good," Simmons said, his face still twitching from the shocks he'd received.  
"And what do you plan on blowing it up with?" Rengs asked, "We're a bit short of explosives, if you didn't notice,"  
"Simmons can-"  
"No, I can't," Simmons cut in. He held up one shaking hand, steaming slightly from the electric shocks, "If I tried building a bomb like this, I'd blow us all up."  
"Ohhh. Well, then it's on to plan B." Stern said. He stood, "C'mon, we're sneaking up to the roof,"

Stafford and Jeffery were met in the transit system by a nondescript Matrian who identified himself as being with the rebels. He led them through a few nondescript passages until he reached a hidden panel. The clean, tiled transit tunnels abruptly gave way to a rough passage carved through solid rock and leading down under the city. After several minutes of walking, the tunnel branched. Down the other branch, Jeffery could barely make out the huge, abandoned suspended animation chamber. After a few more twists and turns (and at least two secret knocks) they were led into a room that looked like it too had been cut out of solid rock. Jeffery let out a breath as he saw the woman standing there.  
"Noel!" Stafford exclaimed happily, rushing forward and pulling the surprisingly compliant woman into a hug. "Oh my God, I'm so happy to see you!"  
"Then I suppose I'll forgive you for taking the Lord's name in vain," Wowryk said, with just a hint of a smile.  
"In vain? I just found my favourite doctor! That's not in vain!" Stafford laughed, unaware that Jeffery had suddenly started glaring daggers in his direction.  
Jural wasn't looking too happy either.  
"Clever, Captain," Wowryk said, this time smiling outright, "May I introduce Special Agent Jural, our contact with the Matrian government and Mistress Laheya, formerly of the FAMINE organization, now the leader of the Matrian Rebellion."  
"Just the people we wanted to find," Stafford said, nodding at each, "Look, Queen Anselia and the rest of the Council are thrilled with what you're doing. We've got ourselves a huge, mostly empty base of operations out in the middle of the desert. What say we all head out there until the fleet arrives?"  
The Wowryk, Jural and Laheya exchanged a look.  
"Why would we do that?" Laheya asked, "I am trying to lead a rebellion here! I have no interest in hiding like a coward under the desert!"  
"I'm here to serve the Matrian government," Jural added, "We're just in the process of organizing dozens of cells in Matronus alone to start fighting against the Qu'Eh. Now is NOT the time to leave!"  
"Oh," Stafford looked surprised. "Well, OK. I understand your desire to fight for your planet," he finished diplomatically. "So, Noel, what say we pack up the Hazardous Team and get out of here?"  
Jural and Laheya looked at Wowryk expectantly.  
"The Hazardous Team is better suited to fast strikes, and should operate out of the bunker," she said slowly, "Keklor and Dar'ugal just aren't suited to undercover work,"  
"I knew making you first officer was a good idea," Stafford said warmly.  
"But I'm staying here," Wowryk finished quietly.  
The smile fell of Stafford's face.  
"I was wrong," he muttered. Then, louder, "What do you mean 'you're staying here'? "  
"I mean what I said, Chris," Wowryk said, "I'm involved. I can't just turn my back on these people, the way you have!"  
"Hey, I was STUNNED with a WEAPON and DRAGGED into that bunker!" Stafford objected loudly.  
"By who?" Jural asked curiously.  
"Admiral Verethi,"  
Jural giggled.  
"Ohh, that catty bitch!"  
"Noel, ye don't belong here," Jeffery jumped in, "Yer in danger. The Qu'Eh want ye dead, and if they get their hands on ye-"  
"They Qu'Eh had their hands on me for a good two weeks!" Wowryk snapped, "They don't want me dead, they want me to help them control the Matrian people!"  
"Actually, after that little announcement we made, we're fairly sure they want you dead," Jural said helpfully, "Noel, I agree with them. You should go where you'll be safe."  
"You can be a symbol from the bunker," Laheya said, "Jural and I can lead from the front lines,"  
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Wowryk snapped, "I can't inspire your people to fight while I cower in safety! This is our cause, and WE will lead it!"  
"Noel," Stafford said, "the fleet should be here any day-"  
"We don't even know for certain that the fleet is coming," Wowryk said flatly.  
Stafford, Jeffery and the Matrians stared at her in shock.  
"What?" somebody forced out.  
"We…we got a message from Tunney right after the battle," Wowryk said, her face tight, "Tunney is keeping the fleet at Waystation until he can get his hands on some bigger ships,"  
"Why didn't you TELL US?" Laheya barked. Stafford had gone pale, his mouth gaping open.  
"Because Jall sent a message to…to somebody before he sent me off," Wowryk said carefully, "And if anybody can get us the ship we need, it's him."  
Stafford was shaking his head.  
"This changes everything," he muttered, "Anselia, the council, the whole rebellion." He started pacing, "Without the fleet, we're helpless!"  
"We're screwed," Jeffery agreed.  
"Now we see what Federation membership is worth," Laheya said with contempt.  
"The Qu'Eh would have come anyway," Jural said softly, "Do you really think we would have held up any better on our own?"  
Laheya was silent.  
"Who did Jall message?" Stafford demanded angrily, "Who could POSSIBLY talk somebody out of a whole battle…ship…" he trailed off, then spun to face Wowryk, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.  
"Noonan," he said. Wowryk nodded. Stafford nearly laughed.  
"Of all the people…" he shook his head, "Ohhh, Jall. You finally did something right. Of all the people that might actually help us!" His expression grew grim again.  
"We're getting our people off Silverado," he declared, "We can't leave them up there in Qu'Eh hands until Noonan gets here. We can't have them repairing that ship for the Qu'Eh. Not with this new time frame."  
He continued pacing.  
"Jeffery, could you beam somebody to the installation without being detected?"  
Jeffery shook his head.  
"Chris, we managed that during the attack by letting all the defence satellite reactors go critical," he said, "Unless ye have an easy way to dump a tonne of radiation into orbit, then nay."  
Stafford and Jeffery looked expectantly at the Matrians.  
"Don't look at us," Jural said, "We cannot help you with that,"  
"Sorry," Jeffery shrugged, "usually in situations like this, this is the part where somebody says 'Well, this could be possible if…',"  
Jural and Laheya consulted in whispers for a moment.  
"We can get you access to a ground-based transporter pad," Laheya said cautiously, "But it would be up to you to get somebody aboard your ship to perform the jailbreak."  
"We have a sensor-shielded ship," Stafford said, "We can do that,"  
"There is a condition, however," Laheya said, holding up one finger.  
"Money? Power?" Jeffery queried.  
"Sex?" Stafford asked hopefully. Wowryk smacked him on the arm.  
"Perhaps later," Jural said, ignoring Stafford's muttered 'I meant with HER', "But no. We want Wowryk to stay here."  
"Agreed," Wowryk said at once.  
"No, NOT agreed!" Stafford barked, "Look, I'm your Minister of Planetary Defence-"  
"Actually, ye resigned," Jeffery pointed out.  
Stafford smacked him upside the head.  
"You weren't supposed to tell them that!"  
"He was being honest," Wowryk nodded approvingly.  
"Look, I'm still the ranking Starfleet officer in this sector!" Stafford snapped, "Wowryk is one of my officers and-"  
"Chris, don't do this," Wowryk said, stepping in front of Stafford, "I'm involved in this rebellion because you ordered me into a leadership role. You wanted me to be a symbol to the Matrians. You were right. As long as I can help them, you have to let me stay here,"  
"Noel, don't be-" Jeffery started.  
"Simon, don't argue with me," Wowryk said, "Chris, Simon, you're both very special to me, granted in different ways. This is something I need you to understand: I have to finish this,"  
Stafford swallowed. He looked like he was on the verge of saying something for several moments. Then he spun towards Jural.  
"If anything happens to her," he threatened.  
"You'll what? Put a note in my file?"  
"We'll shoot ye out a torpedo tube into the sun!" Jeffery said angrily.  
"Oh. Then I suppose I better take care of her," Jural said.  
"We still need the HT," Stafford said.  
"Dar'ugal and Keklor are keeping watch on the Quali-Tech building, the Qu'Eh installation built on the edge of the city," Wowryk said, "Collecting intelligence. The rest are working there."  
"Oh, good." Stafford said, "By the time they get back, we should have a plan in place."

"This plan sucks," Simmons complained as they waited for Marsden to disable the security lock on the roof door, "I've almost got feeling back in my fingers, I could just run down to the janitor's closet and-"  
"Shhhh," Stern admonished him, "We don't know when security's coming back!"  
There was a soft beep, then the door opened.  
"C'mon," Marsden muttered.  
They ran up two more flights of stairs then ducked through a door onto the roof. The roof of the Quali-Tech building, aside from sporting shield generators and a few disruptor cannons, supported a veritable forest of subspace transceiver antennae. Stern heard a footstep and immediately gestured for the rest to move back behind the corner.  
Carefully peeking around, he could see a single Qu'Eh soldier patrolling the path between two rows of antennae. Stern carefully waited for the right moment, then jumped out, forcing the full weight of his solid, 6'4 frame onto the smaller man. The Qu'Eh went down like a sack of hammers. Stern bludgeoned his helmet against the ground for good measure, then grabbed his weapon and jumped up.  
"This'll come in handy," he said.  
They snuck toward the center of the array, looking for the central transceiver station. Stern took out two more guards in the process. Only Simmons didn't have a weapon, a fact the man was NOT happy with.  
They quickly found their objective. As they did, there was a shout from the general location of the first guard.  
"I knew we should have hidden him somewhere," Stern said.  
Marsden had pried open an access panel and was rummaging around in the guts of the transceiver.  
"You realize there's no guarantee that the detonate commands for these collars use these antennae, right" Marsden said, "We might all get blown to hell as soon as the Qu'Eh figure out it's us!"  
"These guys are doing everything they can to keep costs down," Stern pointed out, "Do you really think they wanted to spend the money on a separate system?"  
The sound of footsteps was getting closer.  
"And hurry up!" Rengs said, readying his weapon, "We have company on the way!"  
"I'm still trying to find the main power line!" Marsden said, "Or something else with enough juice to fry this stuff! I can't just shove things in at random! If I don't start a chain reaction, we won't get all the-"  
BZEEEEAAARRR!  
A disruptor beam sizzled through the air, just inches from Marsden's head. Stern immediately started firing back.  
"OK, I'll hurry!" Marsden gulped.  
Stern and Rengs were now firing back in the general direction of the oncoming Qu'Eh while Marsden buried his arms in the panel. Simmons' trigger finger kept flexing, as though he had a weapon.  
There was a shout from behind them! On reflex, Rengs spun around and fired, narrowly missing Kreklor.  
"You started the battle without us!" the Klingon snarled, taking position next to Stern, "We had to climb the drainpipe of the neighboring building, balance precariously on a ledge as we crept, stealthily towards this building, boldly leap across the alleyway,"  
Dar'ugal tapped Kreklor's arm, then made an odd hand gesture.  
"Yes. We also had a stand-off with a very angry alley-cat," Kreklor added, "It was a fearsome creature!"  
"Just shut up and shoot!" Stern snapped.  
"We will sing songs of our victory later," Kreklor promised Dar'ugal. He sighted down his weapon, then fired.  
"OK," Marsden shouted, "If I've done this right, we have about 2 minutes before an irreversible chain reaction takes out the entire transceiver array!"  
"Good, let's go," Stern said. The Hazardous Team bolted between a row of antennae, firing back at the oncoming Qu'Eh guards as they ran.  
"Marsden, is this at all like that holo-simulation where you had to disable a deflector array?" Rengs asked suddenly, panting slightly as he ran.  
"Yeah, almost identical." Marsden replied. "Why?"  
"Uh-oh," Simmons muttered.  
"Because you cross connected the wrong circuits in that simulation!" Stern said, a look of panic in his eyes, "Instead of shorting out the array in a chain reaction after two minutes-"  
"THE WHOLE THING VAPORIZED IN 30 SECONDS!" Simmons screamed.  
Mardsen blinked.  
"RUUUUNNNNNN!" he shouted.

Stafford and Jeffery were walking calmly down the street, still wearing their not-so-effective disguises.  
"Yer sure this is the way to Quali-Tech?" Jeffery demanded.  
"You know," Stafford said, "you used to question me a lot less when I wasn't your superior officer,"  
"Ah didn't have to worry about ye gettin' me into trouble as much," Jeffery pointed out.  
"What about that bar on Bolarus?" Stafford asked, "Y'know, when they politely asked us never to come back to their planet again?"  
"That's different," Jeffery said, "That was fun,"  
"Look, we scope out Quali-Tech, link up with Kreklor and Dar'ugal, wait for the others to get off work, snip off those explosive collars and meet up with Yanick and T'Parief." Stafford said, "Couldn't be easier!"  
"Atta boy, broadcast our plan to everybody in the vicinity," Jeffery grumbled.  
"You mean the little old Matrian lady walking into the grocery store over there?" Stafford asked.  
"She could be a Qu'Eh spy! Or have one of those head-plant thingies,"  
"Let's just get to Quali-Tech before anybody gets suspicious," Stafford said.  
"If Quali-Tech is even anywhere near-"  
KA-BOOOOOM!  
Both men were knocked to the ground as the roof of a large, drab building erupted into a blinding explosion. Stafford struggle to regain his footing, one hand shielding his eyes.  
"My God," he gasped, "I think we found Quali-"  
FWOOMP!  
Jeffery saw nothing more than a blur as a fast-moving figure slammed into Stafford, driving him up against the wall of a nearby building. Jeffery dodged as another blur flew past him, slamming into a table of fruit on display in front of the grocery store.  
"It's OK guys," Stern called as he pulled himself off of Stafford, "Some poor sap with a beard broke my fall,"  
"A fruit broke mine," Simmons said, trying to pull a very large, very squished melon off his butt, "And it wasn't even Jall!" Simmons snickered to himself.  
"Aww, mom, I'm really not hungry right now," Stafford mumbled, still sprawled out on the street.  
"Way ta go, ye git!" Jeffery shouted, "We came all the way out here ta pick ye up, and ye squish the-UMPH!"  
"Jeffery? FINALLY!" Stern cried, seizing Jeffery in an inescapable bear hug, "Somebody in Starfleet who ISN"T Dr. Wowryk!"  
"GITOFF ME!" Jeffery shouted, trying to wriggle free, "Ye squished tha captain!"  
"Ohhh," Stern exclaimed, dropping Jeffery to the ground like a sack of potatoes, "Uh-oh,"  
There was another crash and a loud ripping sound as Marsden and Rengs tore through the cloth canopy over the storefront then crashed to the ground.  
"Sorry we're late," Rengs said, the back of his borrowed Matrian cloths still smoking, "The explosion tossed us up on the roof. Lucky we weren't any closer!"  
Marsden, inevitably, was unconscious.  
"Yeah, I'd love to go fishing," Stafford slurred.  
"Hey! You found the captain!" Rengs exclaimed.  
"I'm here too," Jeffery piped up.  
"And...um...the engineer!"  
"Me ex-girlfriend delivered yer baby, and ye don't know me name?"  
"It's coming to me!"  
Stern perked up, certain he could hear running boot-steps in the distance.  
"I think we're about to have company," Stern said, "I'm guessing you don't have a ship here?"  
"It's parked a ways off," Jeffery said, "We can't use the transporter until we figure out a way to mask the signal!"  
"We gotta jet," Stern said. He tossed Stafford over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.  
"Darg, you've got Marsden," he snapped, "See if you can't get him up and att'em BEFORE the mission ends!"  
"In here," Kreklor snapped, yanking open the door to the grocery store.  
Rushing inside, they saw that the few shoppers present had already cowered near the walls. (The Starfleet team couldn't know it, but business at the market had plummeted since the Qu'Eh had opened up their 'facility' down the street.) Like most markets there were aisles of shelves filled with fresh food products, along with another aisle filled with replicators and data chips, where patrons could sample various items and recipes before buying either their replicator patterns or the fresh ingredients required to prepare them. Further back, a series of display screens allowed shoppers to view various cuts of meat available. (For some reason, the Matrians considered displaying raw meat taboo.)  
"Nobody move!" Stern shouted, staggering under Stafford's weight.  
"I'll hold still, mommy," Stafford slurred, rolling his head.  
"And ignore him," Simmons added.  
"We're just a pack of rebels trying to escape the Qu'Eh," Stern went on, "We're not here to hurt anybody, we're just trying not to get killed."  
"ATTENTION STARFLEETERS!" an amplified voice announced loudly from outside, "SURRENDER, AND PREPARE TO BE AUDITED!"  
"Well, OK, we're Starfleet officers helping the rebels," Simmons shrugged.  
"Except for Kreklor. He's not an officer," Stern corrected.  
"Ohhh, right."  
"Ye Gods," Jeffery muttered, shaking his head.  
"I don't wanna go to church, mom!" Stafford added.

Outside of Mip's Market, Manager Kalmers had beamed down to the surface. The older Qu'Eh was easily recognizable, due to a distinguished widow's peak. His silvery hair was swept back from his ears, keeping it free of the starfish-like ear tendrils and the Qu'Eh implant he wore over one ear. He almost looked like an elf from one of Earth's fantasy movies, except for the fact that he wore his dark body armour (rather than his usual business dress) and carried a helmet (instead of his usual briefcase).  
"You shouldn't have said that," he said crisply, turning to the ground force manager, "You've tipped them off to the fact that we already knew they were human, not Matrian,"  
"Apologies, Senior Manager," the other said, grimacing as he bowed his head slightly.  
"Don't apologize to me," Kalmers sniffed, "But be prepared: it will come up during your assault quality audit,"  
"Of course,"  
Kalmers twitched one ear-tendril, changing the input channel on his implant.  
"Five troop transports are en route," the operator said calmly, her equipment informing her that he was listening without the need for him to say a word, "Heavy weapons are already equipped. We have fixed scanners on all vessels formerly belonging to the Matrians, Senousians or Federations and are monitoring for transporter activity,"  
"I didn't order a transporter monitor," Kalmers said sharply.  
"Negative, sir, it as a type-4 Initiative Action Response," the operator replied.  
"By whom?"  
"Myself, sir,"  
"Excellent," Kalmers nodded. (The operator couldn't see the gesture, but the sensor in the implant would have detected it and notified her.) "You will see a positive notation from me on your daily Performance Audit,"  
"My thanks, Manager,"  
The troop transports were already landing, disgorging armoured Qu'Eh soldiers.  
"Send in the first team," Kalmers ordered.

Inside the grocery store, the HT hadn't been sitting idle. Stafford and Marsden had been dragged to the back and propped up near the meat displays. Marsden was starting to stir, but Stafford was still delusional. Several shelves were now propped up against the front wall, leaving a variety of packaged food items scattered on the floor.  
"Are you sure this place doesn't have a back door?" Stern demanded, directing the question to the somewhat frightened Matrian proprietor.  
"If it did, would I still be here?" the Matrian asked calmly.  
"I don't know, would you?"  
"Probably," the woman admitted, "A chance to throw cans of bena sauce at those Qu'Eh bastards? I couldn't pass that up,"  
"Good girl!"  
"Of course, if would have been nice if you had a few decent woman soldiers, instead of just men," she added.  
"Hey, I dunno about your planet, but where I come from, men kick ass!" Stern said proudly.  
"Or, in the case of Jall, they-"  
"SHUT UP, Simmons!" Stern snapped.  
There was a crash as an object looking suspiciously like a grenade crashed through the window. With almost lightening reflexes, the store proprietor dove on it, grabbed it, and lobbed it back out the window.  
There was a flash of light. When they could look again, they saw that over a dozen soldiers had collapsed to the ground while what must be the leaders argued furiously.  
"Stun grenade," Stern whistled, "Nice move!"  
"I was a gymnast in Dreamland before the Awakening," the woman said, "Lower Mistress Ithel, retired, at your service,"  
"One sec," Stern said. He was carefully aiming the Qu'Eh weapon he'd obtained. Breathing carefully, he gently pressed the trigger. One of the arguing Qu'Eh fell back, stunned.  
"Commander Stern, formerly of the USS Silverado," he said, turning to shake her hand, "you're SURE there's no emergency exit or anything?"  
"Just the public emergency beam-out system,"  
"Which the Qu'Eh can track, or even redirect," Rengs cut in. He held a Qu'Eh weapon in one hand and a glass jar of blue sauce in another.  
There was a shout from outside as a squad of Qu'Eh troops charged the front door. Stern and Ithel dove behind the counter, Ithel coming up with a Starfleet phaser and Stern with his Qu'Eh weapon.  
"Swiped it off your unconscious guy," she said, pulling the trigger and stunning the first Qu'Eh to burst through the door.  
"Nice move," Stern said, stunning the next and ducking when a third opened fire. Rengs popped up from behind a table of melons and stunned him. A fourth fired down the center of the store, vaporizing a meat display screen and scorching the meat storage hidden behind it. The smell of charred meat filled the air.  
"I don't care mom, I'll eat steak or chicken," Stafford groaned.  
"I don't suppose you do it on the first date, do you?" Stern asked.  
"What, sex?" Ithel giggled, firing on another Qu'Eh, "Who needs the first date?"  
Stern turned and planted a full kiss on her, firing his disruptor over the counter as he did.  
"By the Prophets," Rengs cursed, throwing a rude gesture in Stern's direction. He ducked as a Qu'Eh blast blew up one of the melons, showering him in goop.  
"Margarita time!" Stafford muttered.  
"Somebody shut him up!" Jeffery cursed, trying to get a bead on the next Qu'Eh soldier. He missed, the shot hitting a reflective store sign across the road, reflecting back and causing a can of Matrian coffee to explode, showering Jeffery in fragrant powder. Stafford's eyes popped open.  
"Coffee time?" he asked, his voice suddenly loud and clear.  
"Oh, aye," Jeffery said, trying to shake coffee grounds out of his hair, "He won't wake up for the explosions, or the gunfire, but the smell of coffee-"  
"Less talk, more shooting!" Stern snapped.  
"Hmmmm, a man of action, in and out of the bedroom," Ithel said, "Federation membership has perks!"  
"Stern's one of a kind, ma'am," Rengs said, firing repeatedly at the onrushing Qu'Eh.  
"No he's not!" Stafford said. He'd joined Stern and Ithel behind the counter and was adding his weapons fire to theirs. Marsden was blinking his eyes, one hand fumbling for the weapon that was no longer at his side, but in Ithel's hand.  
"I assure you, madam, that if it's a little no-strings-attached fun you're after, the Federation is more than happy to offer its, I mean, my services," Stafford said.  
"Sir, with all due respect, you're cock-blocking me," Stern snapped, firing repeatedly.  
"Hey, I'm the captain here!"  
Jeffery jumped out from behind his shelf, grabbed Stafford by the back of his borrowed jacket and hauled him back.  
"The only thing more disturbin' than watchin' Stern mack on her is watchin' YE try ta move in on his turf!" Jeffery snapped.  
"Is there no back way out of this place?" Stafford demanded.  
"Sir, respectfully, don't you think we would have left while you were unconscious if there were?" Stern called.  
"I don't know, this is the security team that thought 9/11 was a chain of convenience stores!"  
Kreklor and Dar'ugal exchange a glance that simply said 'this is why we don't want to be running things' then returned to firing their weapons at the Qu'Eh.  
There was a brief lull in the assault. The Qu'Eh tried firing two more grenades in, but this time Stern simply vaporized them before they could detonate.  
"They're lining up for a big rush," Simmons called, "Or they're getting ready to do the 'Macarena'!"  
"Stern, this isn't working!" Stafford said, "We've got to call Yanick for beam-out!"  
"They'll trace the beam right to the ship!" Stern shot back.  
"We've got sensor shielding!" Stafford shot back, "If we move fast enough, they'll lose track of us!"  
"Who's piloting, Yanick?"  
"Yup,"  
Stern thought for a moment.  
"Yeah, she likes putting the pedal to the metal, doesn't she?"  
"Too much so," Jeffery snapped, "Ah've always got ta fix the...oh...that's a good thing here,"

On the outskirts of Matronus, Yanick and T'Parief were...involved.  
It had actually started off as another argument. Yanick was busy giving T'Parief hell for not informing her that he was about to leave on a dangerous mission. T'Parief was accusing Yanick of being controlling and insisting that he, as a grown alpha-male, had the right to do so. Yanick had shot back that T'Parief spent far too much time obeying Stafford and Jall to be an alpha-male, to which T'Parief firmly replied that he would NEVER obey Jall. And so on. Valtaic, sick of the whole thing, had locked himself in the rear cabin, placed a pair of plugs in his ears and took a nap.  
After an hour or so of arguing, Yanick and T'Parief fell in a quiet stalemate. Another hour passed, and boredom had set firmly in. Then Stafford had commed to inform them that he and Jeffery were going to go find the HT before they left, which would probably take a couple of hours.  
Another hour or so of boredom later and their uniforms were scattered all over the cockpit. Anybody look in the front windows would have seen nothing more than T'Parief's tail sticking up in the air as the craft rocked slightly on its landing pads.  
"Stafford to Yanick,"  
The rocking continued, the tail disappearing from sight.  
"Stafford to T'Parief,"  
Still, the craft continued moving. Suddenly the tail shot back into view and the movement stopped. Slowly, like a flag coming down at the end of the day, it lowered back out of view.  
"STAFFORD TO YANICK OR T'PARIEF! WE'RE BEING SHOT AT AND NEED A BIT OF HELP OVER HERE!"  
Suddenly, T'Parief's head popped up over the display panel.  
"T'Parief here,"  
"We need beam out! Tell Yanick to take off on a random course as soon as we're aboard!"  
"One moment,"  
"No, NOW!"  
"You get dressed and run the transporter, I'll hide the hockey gear!" Yanick said quickly.  
"We're lucky the Senousians had sports equipment in their replicator files," T'Parief mused, pulling his pants on.  
"Oh, I brought that. Just in case,"  
T'Parief smiled, gave her a peck on the forehead, then ran back to the tiny transporter pad. He homed in on Stafford's comm-badge, then energized. Jeffery and Stafford appeared on the pad.  
"YANICK, GET MOVING!" Stafford shouted, "T'Parief, beam up the HT, and the Matrian next to Stern's signal!"  
He rushed into the cockpit, just as Yanick fired the anti-grav units. Stafford barely got a grip on a seatback. Behind him, he could hear Jeffery cursing and the transporter cycling again.  
"GOGOGO!" he shouted, getting into the seat and reaching for the restraints. Instead, he came up with a huge pair of tighty-whities, complete with a tail-sized opening at the back.  
"What the...EEEAUUUGGGHHHHH!" he flung the offending garment away. It landed up near the window.  
"What were you two DOING in here?" he snapped.  
"What do you THINK?" Yanick snaped back, firing the anti-gravs again and sending the ship spiralling off on another heading.  
"Yuck!"  
The transporter cycled again.  
"Anything on the sensors?" Stafford asked, trying to change the topic.  
"You tell me, I'm trying to drive here!"  
"Oh, right!" Stafford turned to the nearest console and started tapping at the unfamiliar Senousian controls, "Well, the Qu'Eh are already beamed troops to our landing site. I've got two ships coming in, but they don't seem to have spotted us!"  
Jeffery and Rengs rushed into the cockpit.  
"Everybody's up," Jeffery said, "But Stern and T'Parief are fighting over who gets to come up here and run the weapons,"  
"Not anymore," T'Parief said, climbing into the cockpit. He was nearly knocked on his ass as Yanick fired the anti-grav units again.  
"Hey, the Qu'Eh ships are turning to follow us!" Stafford said, suddenly riveted to the console. Yanick fired the anti-grav again. Stafford watched the display for another minute.  
"Ok, they're...no, wait. They're changing course!"  
The ship shook from a near weapons miss.  
"They must've detected us!"  
"Nay!" Jeffery said firmly, "the shielding is too good for Qu'Eh sensors!"  
"Uh oh," Rengs muttered, "The collars!"  
Jeffery was on him instantly, a tricorder in one hand, the other probing the thin 'loyalty collar' the Qu'Eh had fitted him with.  
"What is going on?" Valtaic demanded, running out of the rear cabin to find the ship with several more people in it than he'd expected.  
"We found some hitchhikers," Jeffery said, staring at Rengs' collar. "Tracking device?" he demanded.  
"Explosives. To make sure we show up for work."  
"EXPLOSIVE?"  
"We're pretty sure we took out the transmitter array!" Rengs said quickly, "Unless they have the codes duplicated, they were lost when Quali-Tech blew up!"  
"The Qu'Eh are anal-retentive corporate types!" Stafford shouted, clutching the console as Yanick fired the anti-grav again, "OF COURSE they have a backup!"  
"It'll just take them time to find it!" Jeffery said.  
"They're doing a s**tty job tracking us," Yanick piped in, "They're half a minute behind my manoeuvres!"  
"Tracking and Assault are separate departments!" Rengs said, trying to hold still as Jeffery manipulated his collar, "They're probably just sending our position via inter-departmental memo!"  
"Valtaic, can't you jam the signals with an energy thingy?" Stafford asked.  
"If you are comfortable with the risk that I may inadvertently cause a detonation, or interfere with the ships systems," Valtaic shrugged.  
"Never mind," Stafford said quickly.  
"Ah think Ah got it!" Jeffery said. Rengs collar clicked, then came off.  
Then it started beeping.  
"Um, TRANSPORTER!" Rengs shouted. The two of them ran back. There was a chiming sound, then the ship bucked from an external explosion.  
"One down," Jeffery called up, "A few to go!"  
There was a gurgle in Rengs' stomach.  
"Ugh," he muttered, "Must have been something I ate,"

Aboard the Qu'Eh flagship, Chairman P'tarek was leaning back in his leather office chair, eyes closed as he listened to the reports coming in.  
"We've lost all the tracking collars," an operator spoke into his ear, "Last known signal was just off the coast. But, on the plus side, we finally received the detonation command codes from the Quali-Tech backup computer!"  
"Switch to the internal trackers!" P'tarek snapped, "And expect a two-point quality deduction! You should have done that already!"  
"Y-yes, Chairman,"  
There was a moment of silence.  
"Chairman, I'm reading three signals over the ocean," the operator said.  
"Only three?"

"Dear lord!" Jeffery cried, watching as a very full barf bag disappeared into the Senousian vessel's matter reclamator, "We bloody borrowed this ship, ye know!"  
"It's not the ship," Rengs muttered, wiping his mouth, "It's the pilot!"  
"F**K YOU, RENGS!" Yanick snapped, all her attention focused on keeping the ship from being detected. There was another jolt as the anti-gravity unit kicked in, punting the ship up and between two clouds like a football between goal posts.  
"I think...I'm gonna...BLLLAAAARRRGGGHHHH!"  
"Marsden just popped," Stern reported, "And I'm...I'm..." he forced himself to keep his heaving lunch down, "I'm OK for now, but who the hell is plotting this course?"  
The matter reclamator whined again.

"Down to two signals, Chairman,"  
"They must have found the transmitters we placed in the food!" P'tarek fumed, "But how? They were miniscule!"  
"One, Chairman,"  
"These Starfleets are far more clever and devious than we gave them credit for!" P'tarek fumed.

"I'm holding this in, dammit!" Stern groaned, clutching his stomach as the ship bucked again.  
"That a challenge, meanie?" Yanick called back.  
"What did I...urk...do?" Stern asked.  
"I'M PLOTTING THE COURSE, DUMBASS!" she shouted. This time she added a barrel roll to the antigrav hop, spinning the ship on it's axis.  
BLLAAAAHHHHHHGGGGG!

"We've lost the signal, Chairman," the operator reported.  
"You're fired," P'tarek said, changing the channel before the operator's death scream could hurt his ear. He rose, then move to a wall-mounted display off to one side of his office. On it, the Federation ship's route was traced, the jagged line leaving Matronus and zigzagging on an uneven course towards...well, towards almost anything in the equatorial region of the next continent, or beyond.  
Closer to Matronus, smaller lines squiggled through the city. Most of them, sadly, merely followed the transit routes to and from the homes of Quali-Tech 'employees'. But a few of them, including the Starfleets signals, led deeper, into the web of tunnels under the city before vanishing due to the thick rock.  
P'tarek had purposefully avoided using or searching those tunnels. Wherever Stafford and Anselia were hiding, it wasn't right under Matronus. He had hoped that by watching the Starfleets carefully, they would lead him to bigger and more interesting fish. And now, they'd slipped through his grasp!  
"Operator," spoke a new voice in his ear, responding to the slightest twitch of an ear-tendril.  
"Send teams into the tunnels under Matronus immediately," P'tarek ordered, "Focus on corrective action, but employment termination is authorized. Likelihood of high-value assets is minimal."  
"Yes, Chairman,"  
P'tarek returned his attention to the map in front of him. A pair of hazy lines now projected the ship's course, based on the movements it made before contact was lost. The projected cone covered a lot of ground. Two smaller cities near the other continent's coast fell just within the cone, as did a number of deserted cities, tracts of unused farmland, a rainforest that had spread to cover what may have once been more farmland and...  
...and, off to one side, a very large desert. A deserted city was off near the edge, but it was the desert that held P'tarek's attention.  
He tapped a few buttons, focusing in the sensor systems. Nothing...nothing...nothing...minor energy spike...nothing...wait?  
P'tarek re-ran the scan, his eyes searching for whatever that spike had been.  
Nothing...nothing...nothing...and...nothing.  
"Solar activity?" he muttered to himself. Maybe.  
Maybe not.  
"I want a flyby of the," he paused, looking at the map, "Evendra Desert. If anything is there, I want to know about it,"  
"At once, Chairman," replied the operator.

"Welcome to your new home away from home," Stafford said, leading the HT out of the Senousian ship, glad for the recycled air of the underground installation as opposed to the vomit smell of the ship, "The Matrians have all moved to the center island, but since you guys are going to be operating outside I thought we'd find a place somewhere near the hanger for you to setup shop.  
"There's an island?" Simmons asked, bug-eyed.  
"And a lake," Yanick said. She was, by far, the most cheerful and least nauseous of the group.  
"Can we go swimming?"  
"The whole inner cavern is flooded with preservative gasses," Stafford said sharply, "C'mon, let's head to the tram station and I'll give you the tour."  
They walked through the twisting route to the tram station. Stern and the HT noted that the corridors seemed fairly standard for a ground-based installation, starship, space station...hell, whatever. When they entered the transit station, Stern looked around. Something about the chamber bothered him...the polished stone floor, the dim lighting, the two crossover bridges spanning the width of the tracks, up above the tram.  
They boarded the tram, which immediately took off down a curving tunnel before turning sharply left and picking up speed. Outside the windows, everything was shrouded in total blackness.  
"We still don't know what the hell's out there," Stafford complained, "For all we know, the lake stretches this far out. Somebody figured the bridges were supposed to be easily defended, y'know?"  
Stern shook his head.  
"Didn't you say the outer ring had far more living space and more facilities than the island?" he said.  
"Well...yeah..."  
"Then that doesn't really make sense, especially since the place seemed to have been built with stealth in mind." Rengs said.  
"I guess." Stafford shrugged.  
The tram had exited the tunnel and pulled into the transit hub. Stern's frown deepened when he saw the cavernous ceiling, supported by stone pillars that were barely visible in the dim light. Nearby, one track led further underground. A platform on the inner ring lay empty, while their outer ring platform was still littered with Starfleet supply crates. Stern craned his neck, looking at the elaborate, glass-walled staircase and the glass-walled crossover bridge extending from the staircase to the inner wall. He shook his head.  
Something wasn't right.  
Before he could say anything, Ensign Burke came running down the stairs.  
"Sir! You're back!"  
"What's new, Ensign?" Stafford asked.  
"We just got a comm from Dr. Wowryk!" Burke panted, out of breath from jogging from the command tower turbolifts, "The Qu'Eh are sweeping the tunnels! They barely made it out!"  
"That's good," Stafford said, "That they escaped, I mean,"  
Stern was shaken from his musings.  
"I think the Qu'Eh are finished toying with the rebels," he said.  
"I think," Stafford said slowly, "That the rebels are finished toying around with the Qu'Eh,"  
He blinked.  
"Hey, that wasn't bad, was it?"  
"Sir," Stern said politely, "Now isn't the time to be pleased with yourself."  
"Yeah," Stafford agreed, "I guess I better go meet with Anselia and the council. Let them know what's going on,"  
"Yes, sir."  
They turned and started the long walk up to the turbolifts.  
"Still, that was pretty good, right?

End


	8. Attack of the Little Titans

Author's Note: This story contains characters from Star Traks: Banshee by Brad Dusen. His characters have been borrowed with his express permission. Just to give you the quick run-down, Star-Traks:Banshee covers a group of Section 31 officers who really, really shouldn't be allowed anywhere near scissors, knives, gardening tools, or anything with a pointy end. Google it for the full series!

Star Traks: Silverado

5.8 – Attack of the Little Titans

Commander Matthew Noonan sat motionless in his quarters aboard the USS Banshee, eyes closed. His breathing had slowed, as had his heart rate, until he appeared to be nothing more than an inanimate statue; a carefully sculpted piece of marble in a Starfleet uniform. As he exhaled, a glass orb floated slowly off the coffee table to join a few other knick-knacks as they hovered in the air.  
Noonan wished that the meditation posture and the habit of floating objects in the air was some ancient custom held sacred by his 'people', but truth be told some vampire had watched 'The Empire Strikes Back' sometime in the late 20th Century and thought the whole thing looked pretty cool.  
With that thought, Noonan's concentration was shattered. So was the glass orb as it fell out of the air and struck the corner of the table. No sooner had the shards of glass tinkled to the carpet when the door hissed open.  
"FREEZE!" Security Chief Dan Smith snapped, jumping into the door and waving his phaser rifle in front of him.  
Noonan just looked calmly back at him.  
"May I help you?" he asked.  
Smith's eyes darted around Noonan's quarters, taking in the source of the sound he'd heard, the trinkets scattered on the floor and Noonan's completely non-threatening position. He slowly lowered his rifle, then stepped back out of the room, allowing the doors to hiss shut.  
Noonan sighed.  
"Noonan to Vorezze," he said, tapping his comm-badge.  
"What?"  
Noonan ignored the lack of proper communications protocol. In a way, it was almost refreshing...a pleasant reminder of certain other officers he'd recently served with.  
"Captain, it isn't necessary to have your security chief stationed outside my quarters. I assure you, I'm not a threat. At least, not as long as the modifications to the replicator in my quarters hold out,"  
"Yeah well...keeping an eye on you is making him feel better," Vorezze replied. 'And making me feel better too.' Vorezze didn't say this aloud, but Noonan knew he was thinking it.  
"I am to be left alone," Noonan said firmly, exerting just the slightest pressure on Vorezze.  
"I'll get rid of him," Vorezze said, sounding slightly dazed.  
"Thank you, Captain. Noonan out."  
"Buh-bye..."  
With that disruption handled, Noonan once again composed himself. He needed to know what was happening on Matria Prime. If he could just reach out to one of his collegues...  
Of course, he'd being trying for the past week without luck. Perhaps, as they grew closer, he'd be more successful.

Commander Smith stood outside Noonan's quarters, glaring at the closed doors.  
"Vorezze to all senior staff. Get up to the conference lounge. Meeting time."  
Smith brought his hand up to his comm-badge to protest, only to have it fall by his side. He found himself turning, then walking towards the turbolift.  
"Keep an eye on him," he called back to the remaining guard, unsure of what was happening. And, more disturbingly, not caring.  
Smith was joined in the turbolift by Tactical Officer Vince DiSanto.  
"Keeping an eye on the new guy?" Vince asked politely, his voice still somewhat sibilant, despite the voice changing lessons he'd been taking.  
"Section 31 has him classified as a Type-13 Sentient," Smith said simply. "I don't care if he's in Starfleet, I don't care which organizations he's worked for in the past, I don't trust him.  
Section 31 was the super-secret branch of the Federation. Nobody in the Federation was supposed to know it existed, especially not Starfleet. With highly advanced technologies and a lack of moral restraints, Section 31's job was to protect the Federation from any and all threats. The Banshee and her crew had joined Section 31 years ago by faking their own deaths and the destruction of their ship.  
Recently, Section 31 had ordered them to the Rigel VI Salvage Depot where they were to pickup a 'Mission Specialist' who would give them further orders. What they'd found was Noonan, a pale, quiet yet forceful Starfleet officer who had informed them that they'd be rendezvousing with a fleet at Waystation, at which point they would lead said fleet in the liberation of Matria Prime. He'd also informed them that they were to be operating undercover, pretending to be Starfleet officers. The Banshee crew hadn't been happy to learn that all their advanced and illegal technology was now off-limits. However, Noonan had informed them that the enemy forces were somewhat below Federation-level when it came to technology.  
What Noonan hadn't mentioned was the fact that the Federation fleet they would be leading was made up of old, outdated ships that, despite their upgrades and modifications, were not up to standard.  
Anyway, Smith was complaining to DiSanto about having to play host to Noonan before we took off on this exploration of Exposition Boulevard.  
"Vorezze isn't happy about having him aboard either," Smith went on, the rant somewhat unusual for the normally quiet man, "Or this bizarre mission off to the middle of nowhere!"  
"Or about having to repaint the hull," Vince added, "He's sent Rachow out there three more times to touch up the new name." As part of the 'undercover' part of the operation, the Banshee crew had quickly scratched the ship's name off the saucer and replaced it with 'USS Medusa'. Unfortunately, since the painting had been done at warp speeds and since unprotected warp exposure did nasty things to the humanoid nervous system, the actual print had wavered somewhere between USS Medusa and USS Medamusal.  
"You were on the mission with the Deimos," Smith said to DiSanto, ignoring his comment and referring to a past mission that had seen them dealing with cult obsessed with Type-13 sentients, "You know what these people are capable of. They're not natural!"  
"I sort of figured you'd like that about the guy," DiSanto shrugged. Smith's obsession with all things occult was well known around the ship, "I thought you'd have a tonne of questions to ask him."  
"Section 31 classified him as Type-13," Smith said again, "I don't WANT to know anything else about him. Knowing too much can be dangerous...even for Section 31 members."  
"Great organization we all belong to," Vince muttered as the turblift doors hissed open.

"OK everybody, welcome to mid-point," Captain Jad Vorezze said, addressing his officers as they gathered in the Banshee's spacious conference lounge. The Sovereign-class ship was the absolute pinnacle of Federation technology, and had darned cushy accommodations to go with it. Of course, the Banshee also had a ton of fancy and illegal Section 31 technologies, such as the phase-cloak, the cataclysm torpedoes or the 'non-fat yet still perfectly tasting cappuccino' machine. The Banshee crew had changed into standard Starfleet uniforms, packing their black leather Section 31 uniforms in the bottoms of their underwear drawers, where the crews of the other ships were unlikely to look.  
"We're now officially halfway to the Matrian system," Vorezze went on, "Celebratory sandwiches and quiche will be served this evening in the officer's mess, along with those fruity cocktails with the little gummi-bears Vince likes so much-"  
Somebody snickered. Vince turned beet-red.  
"That doesn't prove anything," he muttered.  
"- but until then, we have a few things to go over," Vorezze finished.  
"Commander Tagel isn't here yet," Commander Charlotte Burns, First Officer, pointed out.  
"Ummmm yes." Vorezze said uncomfortably, "Well, if you really feel like going down and bringing her up here when she's in one of her moods, you go right ahead,"  
"Never-mind," Burns said quietly, looking down at the table.  
"OK, Vince," Jad said, taking his seat and pouring himself a cup of raktageeno, "How's the tactical planning coming?"  
"Um, well we have almost no information on Qu'Eh fleet strength, ground force strength, fleet movements or much of anything. So our plan is basically 'let's drop out of warp and fire everything at them'." Vince swallowed nervously.  
"That's it," Vorezze said flatly, "That's your plan. We've got half a dozen other starships waiting for us to 'let drop the nuggets of our boundless brilliance' and the best I can take to them is 'we're going to drop out of warp and shoot everything in sight',"  
"Nuggests of our boundless brilliance?" Dr. Lang commented dryly, "Who's mind did you borrow that from?"  
"The captain of the Champlain," Vorezze replied, "But I'm pretty sure he was being snide when he thought it,"  
"PURPLE!" Lt. Cmdr Ben Rachow shouted suddenly, still suffering the after-effects of unprotected warp exposure, "Strawberry yogurt feels purple on my ears!"  
"Of course it does," Dr. Brian Issac said soothingly, patting Rachow on the arm.  
"Vince smells like rainbows," Rachow muttered, slumping in his seat.  
"Is he going to get better anytime soon?" Commander Charlotte Burns asked, "As much as I enjoy the new quieter Ben, these funny outbursts are getting almost as disturbing as those tight pants he's been wearing."  
"Ohh, worse case scenario I'll just pop his brain out, run it through a cleansing static subspace field and pop it right back into his head," Issac shrugged, "It's a routine procedure. For Section 31, anyway."  
Issac seemed oblivious to the horrified stares he was getting from the rest of the staff.  
"The biggest problem is getting all those tiny little nerves back in the right place!" he went on, "I mean, one wrong connection and his penis might end up wired to his left hand, or something."  
"That would make playing the piano a lot more interesting…" Burns said thoughtfully, considering the possibilities.  
"Strategy! I have strategies!' Vince said loudly, cutting off the vertically-challenged doctor and the trailer-park trash first officer before they could go any further, "Tonnes of strategies! Oodles of strategies! In fact, let's talk about them all, RIGHT NOW!"  
"We're going to have to come up with one hell of a good story when we contact the rest of the fleet," Burns muttered.  
"Yup," Vorezze agreed, "Good think you've got talent covering your ass,"  
"Thank you...wait, what's that supposed to mean?"  
"Nothing. Now who's got the Wikipedia padd?"  
"You mean the Wikipaddia," DiSanto corrected.  
"Why, what did I say?"

"And so," the image of Jad Vorezze said, displayed as he was on the main viewscreen of the USS Stallion, "after our advance reconnaissance party reports their observations, our plan is to exit super luminous travel at a position corresponding to the L2-stable orbital point, relative to Matria Prime. The Ban…uhhh the Medusa and the Vendome will begin immediate target assessment and polarization-"  
"Prioritization," the woman next to him whispered loudly, nudging him with an elbow and leaving a stain of some kind on his uniform.  
"Prioritization," Vorezze corrected himself, "Then the Ban…er, the band of perfectly normal officers aboard the Medusa and the Champlain will deploy to the high-risk targets, while the Vendome, Montreal and Elfman assault other targets. The Stallion and the Stouffer will be making a run here," he pointed to a display, "to assess planetary defences, which by our last intel report were self-destructed anyway."  
"Any questions?" the woman asked.  
"No?" Vorezze said immediately, "Good. B-B-B…Big Medusa out!"  
The screen went dark.  
Captain Elizabeth Simplot stared at the viewscreen from her solitary command chair in the center of the Stallion's circular bridge.  
"What the hell does he mean by that?" she wondered aloud. Simplot was a fairly average woman. Slim, 5'-something. She'd recently dyed her hair jet black, but was seriously contemplating changing it to something a bit more exciting. Maybe silver. Or blue. She'd been in command of the Stallion with virtually no changes in crew since they'd taken on the Operation Salvage ship over 3 years ago.  
"It means," Commander Iron Kren called from his seat at the Environmental Control station, 'That they want to come barging right into the system and blast everything in sight!" It was one of his pet peeves that the bridge design of the Constitution-class ships didn't include a second seat for the first officer. Simplot lorded over the bridge crew from her solitary throne, while he, a joined Trill with lifetimes of experience, was stuck off to the side!  
"No," interrupted Lt. Commander Hurken, the Tellarite tactical officer, "It means they don't have a plan yet, and they're just covering their asses. Idiot human. Did he think we wouldn't figure it out?"  
"I think he was a Betazoid," said Lt. Tereneth, the dual-gendered, Hermat helmsman, "Didn't you see the black eyes?"  
"We weren't staring deeply into his eyes, we were listening to what he laughingly called a tactics briefing!" Hurken said.  
"Then you were missing out," Tereneth shot back.  
"Something's fishy," Simplot said, leaning back in her chair.  
"Yah, that woman standin' next to 'im!" said Lt. Cmdr. Bianca Sinclair, operations officer. Sinclair was a solid, muscular, 6-foot Caribbean woman. She'd actually gone to great lengths to hide her first name, believing that it was just far too feminine for a woman of her strength and power.  
"Kren, what do we have on the Madusa? Who's running that ship?" Simplot asked.  
Kren tapped at his console for a moment.  
"Captain Dontar Honeycut," he read, "Graduated Stafleet Academy, blah, blah, blah, assigned USS Madusa."  
"Not a very detailed record," he concluded. "It says here that it was commissioned from the Antares Shipyards...how interesting,"  
"Neat," Simplot said, "I didn't know they built Sovereign-class ships there."  
"They don't," Kren said simply.  
"Oh. Well, you learn something new everyday, right?" Simplot shrugged.  
"Well here's something for you to learn, you upstart kid," Kren said angrily, "Antares Shipyard is the name used by Starfleet Intelligence when they want to hide something about a ship's REAL origins!"  
"Really? Why would they do that?"  
"Because it's out of the way!" Kren said, "My last host was a dockworker there! You have no idea how many comms we were sent, asking about ships that we never actually built!"  
"Sooo, Starfleet Intelligence is involved in the mission?" Tereneth perked up, her small, pointed ears standing at attention, "Because an SI officer is still on my 'to-do' list,"  
"So why would SI want to get involved in a minor skirmish waaay out in the middle of nowhere?" Simplot asked.  
"Regard this," Hurken said, tapping his console. He'd brought up an image of the Sovereign-class ship, taken days ago as the two ships warped through space mere kilometres from each other. He zoomed in on a space-suited figure as it worked at painting over the ship's name.  
"We're going to have to keep a very close eye on the USS Medusa," Captain Simplot decided, rising dramatically from her chair as the viewscreen changed to a real-time view of the other ship, "A very close eye indeed. And the instant she makes so much as a suspicious move, we're going to-"  
Suddenly, the ship vanished from the screen.  
"Hey, where'd she go?"  
"Ah, oops," Sinclair said, "They dropped out of warp to assist the Champlain with an overheating nacelle. They messaged us about 5 minutes ago, but we were having such an interestin' chat-"  
"Well turn around and go after them!" Simplot said. She sat in her seat and crossed her arms. "And the NEXT time they do anything suspicious, we're going to be all over them like Klingon lice!"  
"Ewww," Tereneth muttered.

Down in Engineering, a few hours later, Lt. Josh Shurgroe was hovering over the dilithium chamber like a mother hen over her eggs. A very nervous, very twitchy mother hen. The rest of the engineering staff, knowing damned well that a mis-alignment in the crystals at warp speed would vaporize half the ship, had retreated behind the engineering blast doors and called the one person who could be counted on to calm the man.  
"Josh, it's time to take your meds!" Dr. Janet Annerson said firmly, standing outside the radiation shielding surrounding the room holding the Constitution-class ship's crystal chamber. "You're scaring your subordinates."  
"H-h-h-h-huh?" Lt. Shurgroe jerked in surprise, looking over at Annerson. The entire engineering team held their collective breaths, certain the ship was about to be destroyed.  
"I-I-I don't need them," Shurgroe stuttered, reaching for a hydrospanner, "Now s-s-stop bothering me and let me finish thi-i-i-is recal-cal-calibration."  
"We're at warp speed, sweetie," Annerson said gently, "You shouldn't be doing this anyway."  
"The c-crystals are singing o-o-offkey!" Shurgroe insisted.  
"Bollox this," Annerson muttered. She hit the override button on a nearby panel, causing an emergency warp-core shutdown. The crystal chamber under Shurgroe went dark as the plasma stream died. The engineering team let out a relieved breath, even as the ship tumbled like a leaf in a hurricane, the hull groaning under the stresses of the far-too-rapid deceleration. Annerson pushed off a bulkhead, stormed towards Shurgroe and jabbed him with a hypospray. The effect was immediate.  
"Whoah," He said, one hand rising to rub his head, one finger unconsciously checking to make sure the pattern he'd shaved into his hair that morning was still there. (Like it would go anywhere?) "Thanks doc, I feel a lot better,"  
"You'd ALWAYS feel a lot better if you'd just take the damned hypo every morning!" Annerson snapped.  
"I know," Shurgroe sighed, "But for some reason, I just can't bring myself to even touch one of those things when I wake up in the morning,"  
"You WILL bring yourself to touch them, or I'll drag your ass to sickbay and implant it with an automatic medication injected!" Annerson threatened, gathering up her med-kit and preparing to leave, "And it won't be a nice hypo either!"  
"Oh?" Shurgroe looked interested, "There's an easier method?"  
"No," Annerson called over her shoulder, "But a few weeks with automatic suppositories the size of baseballs and you'll be BEGGING me for a hypo!"  
The doors to engineering hissed shut behind her.  
Shurgroe shuddered.  
"I need to stop pissing her off," he reminded himself.  
"We probably need to restart the warp core too," one of his engineers said, "The bridge has been calling us for 3 minutes, but…"  
"Oops!"

A few minutes prior…

Up on the bridge, Captain Simplot had been staring again at the image of the 'Medusa' on the screen.  
"What are you up to, Captain Honeycut?" she wondered, steepling her fingers and trying to look thoughtful and intelligent, "If that IS your real NAME!"  
"Not likely," Commander Kren grumbled from the Environmental console. He was running scan after scan on the other ship and coming up with a whole lot of nothing. "Maybe you'd like to try doing something other than just staring at them, Captain?" he added a little extra stress on the final word.  
"I am doing something," Simplot sniffed, "I'm…considering…things. And strategizing!"  
"You're wondering if Captain Honeycut is single," Tereneth smirked from the helm.  
"Well, that too," Simplot admitted, "I like his eyes,"  
Kren exchanged a look with Lt. Gonzolaz, the ship's Hispanic science officer.  
"In any event," Simplot returned her attention to the screen, "We'll figure you out, Honeycut! We know you`re up to something, and we`ll get you, even if-"  
"We're dropping out of warp!" Terenet announced suddenly from the helm.  
"Yes, even when we're…hey, where'd they go!?" Simplot jumped to her feet. The Medusa had vanished from the screen, replaced by a slowly spinning starfield.  
Kren brought one hand to his forehead.  
"Somebody in Engineering triggered the emergency core shutdown," Sinclair reported from Ops, "Probably just somebody tryin' to stop Shurgroe from muckin' around with somethin'."  
"Get a hold of engineering and order them restart the core!" Kren ordered, "Send a message to the fleet, tell them we'll catch up in-"  
"Belay that!' Simplot snapped, rising to her feet. "Hey, cool. That was TOTALLY dramatic! I'm totally writing about it in my diary tonight!" She sat back down.  
The bridge was silent for a moment.  
"And why are we belaying me?" Kren asked sharply.  
"Oh! Right." Simplot rose from her chair again, "Hail the Medusa and tell them we need a tow. They'll have to bring us into their warp field, nice and close. Then we can figure out what exactly they're up to!"  
"That's" Kren rolled his eyes. Then he paused.  
"That's actually a pretty good idea," he admitted, now angrier then before.

A short time later, Burns, Lang and Vorezze were standing in a rear-facing lounge, watching as the much smaller Stallion was tractored in between the Banshee's warp nacelles.  
"Whose bright idea was it to send a half-dozen weak, outdated ships way outside the border of Federation space to fight against a new enemy?" Vorezze fumed, "They're going to think all our ships suck!"  
"Actually," Lang said, "We're in Federation space. The border was redrawn to include Senous and Matria Prime after they became member worlds."  
"So what?" Vorezze asked, "We're still out in the middle of nowhere!"  
Burns had pulled up a map of the border on the Wikipaddia.  
"Look," she pointed, indicating a long, thin protrusion of territory extending from Waystation all the way to Matria Prime, "We're travelling through the Federation's penis!"  
Lang tapped a button, zooming out the map so it showed the entire Federation. The protrusion wasn't even visible.  
"I hope not," Lang said, "Or the Federation is going take a serious ribbing in the locker room,"  
There was a soft squeak.  
"You're right of course, Zeke," Lang said, addressing her hamster, "That's completely irrelevant. I don't know why I let Charlotte pull me onto that train of thought."  
She went back to checking the tractor beam calculations while Zeke sat chittering away on her shoulder. Jad was scratching his upper back.  
"Problem?" Burns asked pleasantly.  
'"I think I'm getting a rash," he grumbled, "must be that new cleaner they're using on the seats."  
"Oh, you want topical cream #67 in the replicator," Burns said, "Not to be confused with #76. That's better for poison ivy. Oh, and #93 is great for carpet burns!"  
"It's scary that you know all that," Vorezze said, still scratching.

"Topical cream #67," Dr. Issac said, addressing Commander Dave Riley, the Banshee's Chief Engineer, "And don't scratch. I haven't figure out what this is yet, so you might spread it to other body parts!"  
"Eww," Riley said, trying to hold his hands away from his body. He succeeded for about 5 seconds before reaching down and scratching one leg. Issac smacked him.  
"Stop it!"  
"OK, right," Riley said, forcing his hand back by his side. No sooner had Issac turned to address another crewman then Riley was again scratching. Without looking, Issac swatted at his hand.  
"Stop it, or I'll confine you to quarantine with Rachow!"  
Riley looked over to one side of Sickbay, where a transparent containment box now held the helmsman. His brain was still a bit scrambled, and he was trying to scratch his armpit with his big toe.  
With renewed purpose, Riley kept his hand away from his body.  
At least until he was able to scramble out of sickbay.

"This has gotten beyond creepy, woman. Ya do realize this, do ya not?" Sinclair said to Captain Simplot. With the Stallion being tractored by the 'Medusa', the ship's visual sensors were in a perfect position to capture what was going in the in various windows visible to the smaller ship.  
"Is that guy masturbating right in front of the window? That's just sick!" Simplot exclaimed.  
Gonzolaz looked up at the screen for a moment.  
"No. He's a Kuthraplan," he said after a moment, "He's just scratching his nose, which happens to be located in a fairly unusual spot."  
"Oh." Simplot tapped a panel on her chair, panning the view around to the next window. This one showed yet another crewmember scratching frantically at the bottom of his foot.  
"Looks like the Medusa has a lot of scratchy body parts today," Tereneth observed from the helm.  
"No, that one really is masturbating," Gonzolas said, turning back to his station, "Goslens have their erogenous zones on the pads of their feet,"  
"Really?" Sinclair demanded, "And how does he go runnin'?"  
"With great pleasure, I assume," Gonzolas shrugged, not looking up.  
"He is sorta cute," Simplot mused.  
"He, or rather, it, is sexually incompatible with most humanoids. Sorry."  
"It sure is a good thing we've got a science officer to tell us these things, isn't it?" Tereneth said.  
"Yes,"  
The bridge doors hissed open and Dr. Annerson stormed onto the bridge. Really, she tended to storm everywhere, but since we haven't seen her in a while, it doesn't hurt to bring it up again.  
"Liz, you were supposed to meet me down in the Wreck Deck half an hour ago!" she complained, leaning against the circular bridge railing, "It's charity night!"  
"I know, Annie, and I'm sorry," Simplot said, still not turning away from the viewscreen, "But I just know there's something wrong with these Medusa people, and I'm going to find it!"  
"Aside from that officer pressing her buttocks against the window, I think you're exaggerating," Annerson said.  
"Is that a rash?" Tereneth squinted.  
"If it is, I want it noted down in our observation log, along with the nose-crotch person and the foot-masturbator!" Simplot snapped.  
"Oookay," Annerson said, her eyebrows now in the vicinity of her hairline, "Somebody is coming off-duty, joining me in the Wreck Deck and donating credits to charity!"  
"Was that tonight?" Sinclair and Tereneth exclaimed together, "Gamma-shift to the bridge!"  
"But-" Simplot insisted.  
"Doctor's orders!" Annerson insisted, grabbing Simplot by the arm and hauling her off the bridge.  
"Must be some charity event," Gonzolas muttered.

Three hours later, Simplot was sitting near the broad, square windows on the lower level of the Stallion's multi-level recreation deck. As the ship had been designed before holodecks were invented, the designers had included the huge compartment filled with games and other diversions. When the Stallion was refitted, they'd moved the ship's library and lounges into that space in order to make room for a few small holo-decks. (Why they hadn't just used the damned rec room as a holo-deck had been chalked up to Starfleet bureaucracy.) The current result was that Simplot was sitting glumly next to a window, shelves full of library padds to either side of her, while Annerson swatted away two muscular men dressed only in Speedo's and intent on dancing upon their table.  
Oh yes, the fund-raiser that night happened to be put on by the ship's water-polo team, in support of Bendii Syndrome research.  
A waitress in a bikini and thong stopped by.  
"Y'all know that if you don't give them a donation, they're not gonna come back, right?" she asked, innocently chewing a wad of bubble-gum.  
"Who?" Simplot asked absently. She'd been eyeing the Madusa's port warp nacelle; the only part of the other ship visible from this part of the Stallion. There were no windows, thus no crewmen visible and she had no sensors to speak of at her bar table. But she just felt that is was a sinister warp nacelle. Very evil, and nasty, and-  
Simplot suddenly found herself lifted out of seat. Next thing she knew, she was dangling by one ankle, face to upside-down-face with Taps, one of the 7-foot Lemnorians on the security team and Simplot's current…repeat gentleman caller.  
"Perhaps if we shake this one, credits will fall out!" Taps said playfully, shaking Simplot gently by the ankle.  
"Taps, I'm just really not in the mood," Simplot said, "Just put me down and I'll thumb over a few credits, OK?"  
"Does that mean that sex later is out of the question?"  
"Hey, shut up! Nobody's supposed to know about that!"  
"Ohh, right,"  
The hulking Lemnorian set Simplot gently down, then waited as she thumbed over her donation to one of the water-polo boys. Annerson was now looking strangely at her.  
"What?" Simplot asked, "It's not like the news hasn't reached the ship's rumour mill 50 times,"  
"You have got to the be LEAST professional captain in the fleet," Annerson said, shaking her head, "Picard almost had a coronary deciding whether or not he could date a scientist, never mind a member of the security team!"  
"We're not dating," Simplot said, "I like big men, he likes small women. That's the end of it,"  
"It's just a bad idea," Annerson said, "Intra-ship romances rarely work out,"  
"Tell that to Tereneth, Sinclair, Gonzolas, Jim in Stellar Cartography," Simplot started counting down senior officers.  
"They take their cue from you, you know!"  
"Please! Those scamps have me beat!" Simplot said dismissively, "Just don't tell Tereneth I said that. Besides," she shrugged, "I hear the ancient Earth Greeks had an army that was totally made up of lovers. You know, so they'd bond closer. So really, I'm just living up to Earth culture!"  
"Um, I don't know if it was the Greeks or not," Annerson grimaced, "But when they said 'lovers' what they meant was-"  
Simplot's head snapped around to face the window. Outside, the Medusa was…distorting?  
"What the…"  
A wave of energy slipped, almost unnoticeably, through the lounge as the whole room seemed to somehow twist without actually changing.  
"What the hell was that?"  
"Bridge to Captain Simplot," the voice of the Gamma-shift commander came, "We have a…a something happening here,"  
"What kind of 'something'?" Simplot asked, heading towards the exit. She snagged Gonzolas by the back of the neck and dragged him away from a female Andorian water-polo player currently performing what was either an Andorian lap-dance or some kind of gymnastics routine. She looked around, trying to spot Tereneth.  
"Um, we're changing course. We're heading…well, I don't know where. But it's not Earth, and it's not Matria Prime!"  
"Hold on! I'll be up as soon as I find everybody!" she spotted Sinclair, the dark woman now wearing a bikini and gyrating for a table of engineers.  
"I didn't know she was on the team," Gonzolas remarked calmly, still allowing himself to be dragged around by Simplot.  
"She isn't, but most of the team has been on her, from what I hear," Simplot said, "Where the hell is Tereneth? Hurken?"  
"You know, as Captain, you could order the DJ to stop the music,"  
"Oh, I don't want to interrupt the party,"  
"Or use the computer,"  
"Computer, where is Tereneth!" Simplot demanded.  
"Lieutenant Tereneth is in the Wreck Deck," the computer replied.  
"See? Not all that specific, is it!" Simplot said.  
"Lieutenant Tereneth is currently dancing between Crewman Spo and Crewman Swatis," the computer added helpfully, "and is likely to depart for their quarters in 15 minutes and 35 seconds for 'coffee',"  
Simplot looked over at the dance floor. Yup, there s/he was, grinding away with the two 20-something crewmen.  
"That SLUT!" she snapped, "I WANTED SWATIS!"

"What's going on?" Simplot asked some time later, jumping into her command chair. On the main screen the Medusa was still visible, cruising along as if nothing was the problem.  
"What took you so long?" Commander Kren demanded, "If this was an attack, we'd be dead by now! If you hadn't wasted so much time-"  
"We came as quickly as we could!" Simplot snapped.  
"Well, we could have been quicker if you and Tereneth hadn't gotten into a hair-pulling match over Crewman Swatis," Gonzolas said, tapping at his panel.  
"I'm telling Starfleet!" Kren said indignantly.  
"Whatever,"  
"We're cloaked," Gonzolas said, frowning.  
"What?" Simplot started.  
"Federation ships aren't supposed to have cloaking devices," Kren said, his irritation with Simplot suddenly forgotten.  
"Except the Defiant,"  
"That's not the Defiant,"  
"Oh, I was wrong," Gonzolas said, still glued to his panel.  
"We're not cloaked?"  
"We're phase-cloaked," he clarified.  
There was a moment of silence.  
"Starfleet doesn't have phase-cloak technology," Sinclair said, "And as far as we know, neither does anybody else."  
"Uh-huh," Kren agreed, 'There is something seriously wrong with that ship!"  
"HA!" Simplot exclaimed, jumping to her feet, "I KNEW IT!"  
As Simplot performed a victory dance around the command chair, Kren moved to Gonzolas' panel.  
"What else are you getting?'  
"Weird energy readings. Enough to disrupt our transporter without proper recalibration," Gonzolas said.  
"But you can recalibrate?"  
"In about 12 hours, maybe,"  
"Hey we should maybe hail them, huh?" Simplot said, pausing in her dance.  
"Hailing," Sinclair said, trying to find the correct button. She kept craning her neck and shifting her weight.  
"Is your bosom blocking your view of the panel again?" Tereneth asked pleasantly.  
"This is not a work bikini!" Sinclair snapped, finally finding the button, "Hailing frequencies open!"  
No response.  
"Well, that was a waste of time," Hurken said from tactical, "I say we blow up the SI idiots!"  
"Hmm? Oh, I almost forgot you were here," Simplot said, "No, I don't want to blow them up yet,"  
"They'd probably blow us up first anyway," Hurken grunted, "Our ship is weak and pathetic,"  
"Thanks for that."  
"Maybe we should go ring the doorbell," Simplot mused.  
"If by 'ring' you mean 'induce a phase shift', and if by 'doorbell' you mean-"  
"Look, enough with the exposition. We have the start of a plan, let's just get started, OK?"

Half an hour later, Simplot, Hurken, Taps, Annerson and Gonzolas were standing in the forward observation lounge, right next to the big windows. Less than 50 meters away they could see a similar, aft-facing lounge aboard the Medusa.  
"If this doesn't work, it's gonna be hell banging out the dents," Annerson observed.  
"It'll work, right?" Simplot asked Gonzolas.  
"If Sinclair and Terenth can pay attention to what they're doing, instead of dissecting the latest issue of Mode Magazine," Gonzolas replied.  
"Ohhh, we're screwed."  
"25 meters," Hurken said, listening to the comm, "And Sinclair says that Gonzolas can expect…I forget. It was something foolish and degrading,"  
"Focus up there!" Simplot snapped.  
"15 meters. Adjusting SIF field,"  
The plan was to use the ship's structural integrity field to disrupt the Medusa's tractor beam and to get the Stallion just slightly out of phase with the Medusa.  
"Ohhhh, maybe this is a bad idea," Simplot decided.  
"None of your ideas are bad," Taps said, tapping her on the behind.  
"Hey, not at work!"  
"Ummm," Annerson said nervously, pointing out the window.  
"Sorry, I just thought…"  
"What? That I just brought you along so we could do it in a janitor's closet or something? I'm not that kind of woman!"  
"Adjustments complete," Gonzolas said quietly.  
"Well, you've gotta admit, that would be hot," Taps was saying.  
"Maybe. But the point is-"  
"AIIIEEEEEE!' Annerson squeaked as the lounge windows crashed into the hull of the Medusa. And kept going. The Stallion passed right through the Medusa, the outer hull of the larger ship sweeping over the away team with just the slightest of tickles then coming to a halt. The Stallion members were now presented with the bizarre image of a lounge aboard the Medusa/Banshee, overlaid with the observation lounge of the Stallion.  
"Creeeeepy," Annerson said, still clutching her sides.  
"Grab my hand," Gonzolas said absently. They did so, and he adjusted a small device. The Medusa suddenly cut into sharper focus while the Stallion blurred slightly.  
"Clear,"  
The Stallion moved off, Annerson and Simplot both giving a little jump as the formerly solid lounge windows passed right through them. They were now standing aboard the Medusa, looking out as the Stallion resumed its place between the Medusa's nacelles.  
"That never would have worked if we weren't already phase cloaked," Gonzolas commented, entering a few notes into his tricorder," I have compadres at Starfleet Science that would give a left cajone for these readings,"  
"But what would you do with it?" Taps asked.  
"Shut up," Simplot rolled her eyes. "OK, let's find out what's going on here!"  
Gripping her phaser rifle, she marched through the nearest door, gesturing for them to follow her. Ten seconds later there was a minor traffic jam as she abruptly reversed direction. Gonzolas skidded to a halt, nearly falling over as Taps ran into him.  
"Liquor storage," Simplot said sheepishly, slipping past Gonzalas and back into the lounge proper. She pointed at the softly glowing exit sign.  
"Thataway!"

They stepped into the deserted corridors of the Medusa/Banshee. The ship was clearly on its night cycle, as the lights in the corridors had been dimmed. But the main lighting was still active, the emergency lights hadn't come on-line, and the red-alert indicators were all dark. Whatever was happening on the ship had either happened so quickly the crew had been unable to react, or…what?  
"I'm picking up life readings," Gonzolas said, "But there's something…off…about them."  
"Annie?" Simplot turned to Dr. Annerson.  
Annerson consulted her medical tricorder for a few moments.  
"Sleepwalking," she shrugged, "There are people on the deck above us moving around, but their bio-readings indicate a state of light sleep."  
"We need access to the ship's log," Simplot decided.  
They'd been wandering the empty halls of the Medusa for nearly 15 minutes before they came across an active computer panel. Gonzolas was immediately waved up to take a look. He tapped for several minutes.  
"This is the last entry I can find," he reported, "The time-stamp is from 10 minutes before the Medusa changed course,"  
The screen crackled for a moment. Captain Honeycut's clean-cut features appeared on the screen.  
"Log recorder visual, USS Banshee, Stardate-"  
"USS Banshee?" Hurken snarled, his pig-like features becoming even more pronounced, "There is no USS Banshee! Idiot human,"  
"Betazoid," Annerson pointed out.  
"I care not,"  
"Shhh!" Simplot shushed them.  
"-Captain Jad Vorezze recording. We've-"  
"Vorezze? Damnit!" Simplot cursed, "I thought Honeycut was such a sexy name! Figures, all the best met are big, fat phonies!"  
"Hey," Taps sounded slightly hurt.  
"Yes, you're hurting the feelings of your toy," Hurken said snidely.  
"Now I have to rewind the stupid log recorder," Gonzolas sighed, showing more emotion than he had the entire trip.  
"Captain Jad Vorezze recording. We've reached the half-way point on our flight to Matria Prime where we will, in theory, push back the Qu'Eh forces that have occupied the planet. With what, of course, remains to be seen. The Champlain is down to two out of her four warp nacelles for at least the next two days, the Stallion's been taken in tow and the crew of the Montreal have spent the entire trip so incredibly drunk that we've had to slave their helm console to the Vendome just to keep them on course. The Banshee-"  
"It's the Medusa now!" somebody, a female voice, pointed out helpfully.  
"I'm doing my own frickin' log!" Vorezze snapped back, "We're not letting any of these Starfleet people aboard the ship, and we're DEFINITELY not giving them access to our logs! Now shut up and see if you can't help Isaac figure out how to cure this damned rash you've started!"  
"You can't prove it was me!" the woman objected.  
"It's a rash," another male voice spoke up, "It's a rash that starts on the buttocks and spreads from there. It's got to have come from you!"  
"I'll show you a rash!"  
There was the sound of scuffling as, presumably, the woman wrestled the man to the deck.  
"Computer, make sure you omit this part," Vorezze said tiredly, "I really don't feel like explaining to Section-31 why we need to…to…"  
Something in Vorezze's gaze had changed. His eyes drooped and his head lolled forward. In the background, the sounds of scuffling abruptly stopped. Vorezze's eyes re-opened, but there was no sign of life in them. Instead, he stared forward with the dead gaze of a corpse, or a military academy student during final exams. When he spoke, his voice was a flat monotone.  
"To feed," he finished. The log cut out.  
The away team from the Stallion exchanged glances.  
"OK everybody," Simplot said, "Anybody who's feeling seriously creeped out right now, raise your hand."  
All four hands went up.  
"So this is the USS Banshee," Gonzolas said thoughtfully, returning his attention to tapping at the panel.  
"Why would they be masquerading as the Medusa?" Taps asked, scratching his head.  
"There is no USS Banshee," Gonzolas said, "The last one was destroyed during the Dominion War. And it just happened to be Sovereign-class,"  
"And Kren says there probably isn't a USS Medusa either," Simplot noted.  
"Vorezze," Hurken grunted, "I have heard that name before, but it was many years ago,"  
"You remember stuff like that?" Taps asked.  
"I remember some human names," Hurken said, "Especially if they sound particularly stupid,"  
"But who's Section 31?" Simplot wondered.  
"The Federation Baton Twirlers," Taps said happily, "They have many deliciously petite women,"  
Simplot smacked him.  
"That's Section 32!" she said, "Hurken, keep this lug under control! Senior officers are trying to speak!"  
"I could have him neutered,"  
"Meep," Taps squeaked, quieting down.  
The group was quiet for a moment.  
"I don't know about the ship or the captain," Annerson finally said, "But is anybody else bothered by what happened at the end of the log?"  
"You mean the whole zombie thing?" Simplot asked, "Yeah, I was wondering about that. It would seem to explain the whole sleepwalking thing your tricorder picked up, wouldn't it?"  
"No, it damned well wouldn't!" Annerson snapped, "In fact, it just raises further questions! Disease? Parasite? Possession by an alien intelligence? All we saw was that it seemed to affect the whole bridge crew at once! And it seems to have spread through the whole ship!"  
"Well, I think the first thing we should do is find one of the crew and examine him," Simplot said.  
"Or her," Annerson pointed out.  
"No, definitely him."  
"The first thing we should do is contact Kren on the Stallion and give him an update," Gonzolas said, stroking his pencil-thin goatee.  
"Ohhhh, I don't wanna!" Simplot complained. But she was already reaching for her comm-badge. She contacted Kren and quickly updated him on their situation. There was a moment of silence, then;  
"Get out of there now," he said quickly, "We'll bring the Stallion back up against the Banshee and you can transfer back over. But you have to get out of there!"  
"Kren, don't be a baby," Simplot said, annoyed, "Rescuing other Federation ships is one of those things we're supposed to be doing all the time! We've just never had the chance!"  
"Elizabeth, you have to listen to me!" Kren insisted, and Simplot was certain she could hear a note of panic in the Trill's voice, "The more time you spend on that ship, the more danger you put the entire fleet in! You've got to-"  
"Look, Kren," Simplot cut him off, "this is the first time in three years that Starfleet has let us outside of Federation space! What would they say if we came back missing an entire Sovereign-class ship? We'd be lucky if they ever let us leave the Sol System again! Now shut up and stand by!"  
"Simplot, you have to listen to me!" Kren snapped, "Section 31 is-"  
"Simplot out!"  
She shook her head.  
"I really hope I'm not that much of a cry-baby when I get old," she muttered.  
"I dunno, Liz," Annerson said, "It sounded like he knew something,"  
"He always wants to sound like he knows something," Simplot shrugged off the comment, "Besides, considering that this Section 31 comes in between the Section 30 Parade Organizers and the Section 32 Baton Twirlers, how much trouble could it really be?"

Back on the Stallion, Kren was almost having heart palpitations.  
"Kren to Simplot!" he tapped at the com-panel, "Kren to Simplot! Kren to Gonzolas! Kren to Annerson!"  
"They're not listening to you," Tereneth said from the helm, "As usual. Why don't you just put your feet up and take a nap!"  
"You're going on report for insubordination!" Kren snapped.  
"Whatever,"  
Section 31. With those little words, Simplot had explained the Medusa, no, the Banshee's actions almost perfectly. The phase cloak, the attempts at disguise, the limited communications with the fleet, it all made sense. What it didn't explain was why the Banshee was there to 'help' them in the first place, or why they'd suddenly changed course. Even if they'd been called off the mission, they would have had to come up with some kind of cover story for the fleet. Just cloaking and taking off would raise suspicions. In fact, the last they'd seen of the fleet on long-range sensors, they had dropped out of warp and were holding position, probably wondering WTF?  
Section 31. Kren had never, through three different Starfleet careers, had contact with the Federation's super-secret shadow organization. But still, he had heard…things. Quiet rumours about ships being destroyed, only to be pop up years later for mere seconds before vanishing again. Stories about attack fleets that had apparently been defeated before even approaching Federation space. Rumblings of highly-advanced technology that Starfleet Science was still years, if not decades, from perfecting. Nobody but a joined Trill could have possibly been around long enough to pick up the rare, subtle hints.  
He had nothing concrete, no proof and he didn't know anybody who actually belonged to the purported shadow organization. But he'd heard enough that he really didn't WANT any proof. His many lifetimes of knowledge had at least given him the wisdom to know that sometimes, the less you knew the better.  
Of course, now here he was being towed by a Section 31 starship equipped with a phase-cloak and who knew what other 'non-existent' technologies.  
"What was that all about, Commander?" Sinclair asked from Tactical.  
"Nothing, Sinclair," Kren said, forcing himself to calm down, "I know nothing,"  
"Could have told you that," Tereneth muttered.

Aboard the Banshee, Smith and DiSanto were crawling through one of the ships many, many Jefferies tubes. Like the majority of the crew, they were moving around with a purpose. Unlike the majority of the crew, they were completely lucid. (If somewhat panicked.) Smith was clutching a large phaser rifle while DiSanto held another device, this one looking disturbingly jury-rigged. Actually, it looked strangely like somebody had ripped apart one of the tanning beds in the gym and planted the one of the bulbs onto a small Type-1 phaser.  
"Did you hear that?" DiSanto asked, stopping in his tracks.  
"No, I didn't hear anything," Smith replied, "Why, should I have?"  
"I thought I heard…people," Vince replied, clutching his funny gun.  
"You're imagining it," Smith shook his head, moving on, "Look, Vince, the hardest thing about dealing with things like this is not letting yourself get jumpy. Yeah, they're creepy. Yeah, they're like something out of a Halloween special and yes they'll enslave you, eat you or just plain kill you. But you've got to…oh come on!"  
Vince's eyes were now as big and as round as golf balls. His upper teeth were pulling on his lower lip and his whole body was starting to tremble just a bit.  
"We've dealt with worse than this," Smith shook his head.  
Vince raised a finger, pointing past Smith's back. Smith spun around.  
"WHOAH!"  
It was Commander Burns. Her eyes were open, but dead to the world. Her hair, her skin, the surface of her cloths, everything seemed to be rippling with parasites, like a pool with a single swimmer. Her hair was moving of its own accord and her flesh looked like something was climbing around underneath it. Which it was.  
"Joooiiinnn usssss…." she breathed, her teeth glaring in Smith's flash-light.  
"No means no!" Smith cried, firing his phaser at her. He struck her several times on stun and while she seemed staggered, she didn't fall. Wait, Smith realized, she had sort of fallen. Her head now lolled limply and her eyes were closed. But her body was still moving towards them. She curled one hand, as though preparing to throw a prize pitch.  
"VINCE!" Smith cried.  
DiSanto raised the UV gun and fired just as Charlotte flung her arm towards them. In the dim light neither of them could see what she was throwing, but as DiSanto's UV beam came on they both saw around a dozen crackling sparks, looking for all the worlds like a cloud of sparks thrown up after somebody had tossed a new log on a campfire.  
"She's trying to infest us!" Smith shouted.  
"So what else is new?" Vince shot back. He was holding down the trigger on his UV gun. Everywhere on Burn`s body that the beam touched, the slow rippling movement stopped. But the instant the beam moved on, it started again.  
DiSanto cocked his head suddenly.  
"This time I know I hear something," he said.

Almost directly beneath their Jefferies tube, Simplot and Annerson were debating the possible nature of Section 31.  
"Look," Simplot said, "If you include the Section 12 Figure Skater's Association, it's obvious that the entire Federation organization is over 68% biased towards female displays and organizations. Clearly, if there's going to be any kind of balance, they need more male-dominated activities! Maybe Section 31 is the Federation All-Male CrossFit Club? That would be…pretty sexy, actually."  
"I done CrossFit," Taps said confidently.  
"I know, I've re-aligned your spine twice already," Annerson said, annoyed, "And Liz, you're grasping at straws here. I doubt the Federation would have an All-Male anything. And this theoretical all-male whatever definitely wouldn't have their own Soverign-class starships complete with phase-cloaking devices!"  
"Hmm. I guess you're right," Simplot conceded, "Gonzolas, anything?"  
"Keep following this corridor," the scientist replied calmly. He'd long since grown used to the arguments Simplot, Tereneth, Annerson and Sinclair tended to get into, even participated in a few himself in some half-hearted gambit to defend the male gender. He'd become accustomed to Simplot's tendency to switch back and forth between the matter at hand and something completely frivolous, such as debating whether the Klingon pirate attacking their ship had a six pack in between ordering that the torpedoes be fired. In any event, as Simplot and Annerson moved on and began debating the possibility that Section 31 was the Federation Male Andorian Water-polo Team, he tapped at his tricorder.  
"There are several life-signs converging in the Jefferies tube directly above us," he said.  
Flip! Like a switch was thrown, Simplot pulled out her phaser.  
"There and…there?" she asked, pointing at the ceiling.  
Gonzolas nodded.

In the conduit, Smith and DiSanto were hunched over Charlotte's body. DiSanto was still shining the UV ray at her while Smith followed his instructions.  
"Try rolling her over," he said.  
Hesitantly, careful to keep his hands in the safe zone denoted by the UV beam, Smith pushed Charlotte onto her side. They caught a brief glimpse of movement on and under her skin as the parasites retreated from the lights. The ones on her skin sizzled and popped like grease on a pan, but the ones buried underneath had plenty of time to retreat around to her back.  
"The densest colony is on her ass, right?" DiSanto said aloud, "Maybe if we-"  
"I refuse to go anywhere near that sort of dangerous territory," Smith said firmly.  
"Hey, do you hear…"  
"Enough!" Smith said angrily, "You're just hearing things…wait…no, I hear it to,"  
What he heard was the sizzle of a phaser beam, right before the floor dropped out from under them, spilling them down into the corridor below.  
"AHHHHHH!"  
Smith fired his phaser, stunning the largest of the attackers. The rest ducked behind a pair of support struts. Smith immediately stopped firing, but Vince was squeezing the trigger of his UV gun repeatedly, shouting and kicking his legs in the air.  
"Vince," Smith said, "What are you going to do, tan them to death?"  
"I could blind them!" Vince cried, "Eventually!"  
"Hey!" the voice was female, light and sounded more curious than annoyed or angry, "Gonzolas, these guys aren't sleep-walkers! I thought you said…"  
"Any second now," this voice was male, with a slight Hispanic accent.  
Wait, what?  
There was a roar as two infested Banshee crewmen fell from the ceiling. Phaser beams from the strangers struck them dead-on, but as with Charlotte, they only slowed them down a little.  
"Phaser's don't work!" another female voice.  
"We could have told you that!" Vince yelled, firing his UV gun and dropping one, temporarily, to the deck.  
"Then why didn't you?" the first female voice again.  
"Cuz we don't know you the hell you are!" Vince shouted back. He'd dropped the second with his UV ray, but the first was staggering back to his feet. Vince recognized the two as working for Xeno-Linguistics.  
"Oops. I'm Captain Elizabeth Simplot, USS Stallion," the first woman said, "this is Dr. Annerson, Science Officer Gonzolas and the one you shot is just some lowly security peon. Nobody I'm interested in at all. And we're definitely not sleeping together!" Taps, recovering from the stun shot, was climbing slowly to his feet.  
"Um, OK," Smith said, "um, I'm Security Chief Leopold, and this is our Tactical Officer, Bubbles,"  
"I hate being Bubbles," DiSanto muttered, "Always Bubbles. As soon as this is over, I want a better under-cover name!"  
"He's Dan Smith, the other is Vince DiSanto," Gonzolas said calmly, "And we may want to start running,"  
Leaving the infested Charlotte along with the other two, the group made a quick retreat down the corridor.  
"How did you get our real names?" Smith demanded.  
"We've seen your computer records," Simplot shrugged, "The gig is up! We know you're with the Federation All-Male Competitive Disco Troop!"  
"Section 54? DiSanto frowned.  
"No! Section 31!"  
"Uh-oh," DiSanto groaned.  
"I told you they weren't part of an all-male anything!" Annerson said, "Didn't you see that transsexual they were with?"  
"That was Commander Burns," DiSanto said, "She's not a transsexual. She's just…"  
He looked at Smith, shrugged.  
"Special," Smith said, an odd expression on his face.  
"And there used to be an all-male ship," Vince said, "The USS XY,"  
"I thought that was just a myth," Simplot said.  
"Naw, I used to serve aboard her,"  
Annerson took a closer look at Vince, then grimaced.  
"Why am I not surprised?" she said.  
"HEY!"  
"So what's wrong with your crew, anyway?" Simplot asked.  
"Well…"  
"Where do we begin," Vince muttered.

The rash had started with a few members of the bridge crew, then spread like wildfire, Smith explained. Within a day, the entire crew had it. Dr. Isaac had identified the cause fairly easily; a strain of Klingon skin parasites. The source was harder to track down, though Commander Burns was the prime suspect. Regardless, the method of transmission had been identified as well: seat cushions.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to work at the tactical station!" Vince cut in, "If I'd sat down on duty, even once, I'd be one of those poor infested bastards!"

Of the entire crew, only three of them had seemed to escape infection; Smith and DiSanto, neither of whom sat while on duty, and Commander Carn, the ship's resident android. Dr. Isaac made his rounds with skin creams and shampoos, but as with any kind of skin parasite, one had to wait until ALL sources of re-infestation could be cleansed. And what he hadn't realized was that the current strain of parasites had been feeding off somebody who was a bit…different.

"We…we have a Type-13 sentient aboard!" Vince blurted out. The Stallion crew looked at him blankly.  
"They're not Section 31, Vince," Smith said, "They don't know what that means!"  
"A life-form that seems to display attributes or abilities that appear to be beyond the comprehension of Federation science to explain without invoking the supernatural." Gonzolas cut in, reading from the files he'd downloaded from the Banshee's computer.  
"How'd you know that?" Simplot asked.  
"Somebody left their Wikipaddia lying around," he said, raising the padd.  
"So these bugs fed off this guy?" Annerson asked.  
"We think so," Smith said.

Nobody had made any connection between the infestation and Commander Noonan until, at the very instant the ship changed to night cycle, the entire crew had changed. Zombie expressions and an overwhelming urge to infest anyone or anything close to them had made it fairly clear to Smith, DiSanto and Carn that Noonan was somehow involved. Of course, they also knew he had beyond-human strength, could sense danger and was able to influence the minds of the living.  
Naturally, they'd sent Carn to deal with him.  
They'd raided the ship's tanning salon for UV bulbs and sent Carn on a mission to take out Noonan. They'd then lost all contact with him.

"We were trying to make our way to find him when we were ambushed," Smith finished, "We think that if we can take him out or incapacitate him, the parasites will go dormant. Stunning the infested crewmen slows them down, but they keep coming. We can kill the bugs with UV light, but we don't have anything that can penetrate clothing, and only prolonged exposure takes care of the bugs that are buried in deep."  
Simplot was looking downright smug.  
"We've got just the thing to help you boys out," she said.  
"We do?" Annerson cocked her head.  
"Remember New Years Eve?"  
"Yes, I….oh no. No, no, no," Annerson squeezed her eyes shut, "Liz, you do this, nobody is ever going to take us seriously again,"  
"Like they do now," Simplot asked.  
"Good point."  
"We have a device on our ship that can help," Simplot said to Smith, "We need to contact them so they can get out of phase with the Banshee, crash her saucer into yours, then send somebody over with a phase-shifter to board the Banshee, then-"  
"Why don't I just cut power to the cloak and the warp drive?" Smith suggested, "then you can beam over whatever it is you want,"  
"Or we could do that," Simplot shrugged.

Five minutes later, the Banshee coasted to a stop and de-cloaked, bringing the Stallion with it. Two minutes later, Simplot was holding a strange, phaser-like device in one hand. Bizarre attachments had been added to the emitter, making it look like something from Duck Dodgers or Captain Proton. They'd snuck back to the Banshee's health spa to test their theory.  
"OK, now we just wait for some infested bugger to come along and-"  
"UNNNGGGG!" a voice cried.  
"There we go," Simplot finished.  
"And what does this beam of yours do?" Smith demanded.  
"You'll see,"  
A shambling figure came around the doorway, arms outstretched, skin crawling with parasites.  
"Captain Vorezze!" DiSanto exclaimed.  
"Yes!" Simplot hissed. She pulled the trigger. A bright green light speared out and struck Vorezze in the chest. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, like a mirror struck with an RPG round, his uniform shattered.  
"Ewww," DiSanto grimaced.  
"You've got a Nudism Ray?" Smith asked.  
"It was a New Year's Eve thing with our Science Department," Annerson explained.  
"Oh yeah! HAPPY NEW YEAR, BABY!" Simplot giggled. She took a closer look at Vorezze's naked body, "Hmm. Well, OK. I guess it wouldn't be a very happy New Year after all,"  
"That's disappointing," Annerson agreed.  
"I think there's something really wrong with these people," Smith whispered to DiSanto.  
"Like we can talk?"  
DiSanto started firing his UV gun at the captain, incapacitating him long enough for the group to push him into a tanning bed. He spun the old-style timer dial to 5 minutes and proceeded to sit on the top, preventing Vorezze from escaping.  
"This should do the trick," he said.  
5 minutes later, the tanning bed dinged, making a sound like an easy-bake oven. A loud thumping suddenly came from inside the bed.  
"LET ME OUT OF HERE!" Vorezze shouted, "I've got a fragile complexion!"

10 minutes later, complete with three more UV guns and Simplot's nudie-ray, the group of Banshee and Stallion officers snuck through the corridor outside of Noonan's quarters. Vorezze, now wearing a borrowed pair of pants, was arguing with Simplot.  
"Look, it was cold in there, OK?" Vorezze insisted, "Those bugs were totally sapping my body heat!"  
"You don't have to defend yourself," Simplot said, "I'm sure you're perfectly…adequate,"  
"Don't lie to a Betazoid!" Vorezze snapped.  
Smith and DiSanto had each taken one side of the door, weapons ready. Taps was still stumbling a bit from the phaser stun. Gonzolas had his tricorder pointed at the door while Annerson stood nearby with her arms crossed. Noticing that Vorezze and Simplot weren't likely to stop arguing anytime soon, she grabbed the nudism gun from Simplot's hands.  
"Maybe if you'd been more of a lady, you wouldn't have been looking at me naked!" Vorezze said.  
"Maybe if you were more of a gentleman, you wouldn't have been infested with butt-lice!"  
"HEY! It's not our fault Charlotte has a thing for Klingons!"  
"Move on three, two," Smith counted down.  
"STOP!" Gonzolas snapped, "Hold on,"  
"Huh?" Smith shook his head, "Hey! You totally killed our dramatic fight scene!"  
"Or it would have killed you," Gonzolas said. He tapped a button next to the door.  
The doors hissed open, revealing a buzzing force-field. Noonan's quarters had been trashed. The table was in three pieces against the far wall and pieces of Carn were scattered across the floor. An android-fist-sized hole in the window had vented the room to space. Nearby, Carn's headless torso was draped over a toppled chair.  
"Crap. It's going to take Riley all week to put him back together," DiSanto sighed.  
"Where's Noonan?" Smith demanded.  
They found him in seconds. Noonan was lying against one of the side walls, bloody scratch marks showing where he'd tried to claw his way out of the airless room. His right leg was clearly broken, probably by Carn, and several tears in his uniform revealed healed or partially healed gashes where the android had broken through his defences.  
"Is he dead?" DiSanto asked.  
Smith shook his head.  
"Dormant," he said, "As soon as we warm him up he'll be fine. But there's no way he's controlling the parasites in that kind of state,"  
"Soooo…who's controlling the parasites?" Annerson asked.

They went on a decontamination spree.  
They tracked down crewmen one at a time. Simplot stripped them and Smith, DiSanto and Taps doused them with UV light until no trace of the parasites remained on (or in) their bodies.  
"Well, Dr. Isaac wasn't controlling them," Smith said, shaking his head.  
"Hmmm," Simplot made a note on a padd she'd dug up, "Not bad for such a tiny guy,"  
"Cut that out!" Vorezze snapped, "I know what you're doing!"  
"What am I doing?" Simplot asked innocently.  
Vorezze swiped the padd and crushed it under one heel.  
"Recording…personal information," he said.  
"Damned mind-reader," Simplot muttered.  
Gonzolas and Annerson were tapping away at a computer panel.  
"Decks 1, 2 and 3 are clear," Annerson said, "look, can you change this so we can see where they're concentrating now?"  
Gonzolas tapped at the panel. At first, the infested crewmen had been roaming the ship. After Smith had cut the engines a few groups had moved into the bridge and engineering, but they were unable to break the command lockout he'd used. They'd hunted down the more isolated crewmen first, replicating more nudism rays and UV guns as their numbers increased. After they'd freed more than a hundred crewmen, they'd noticed that the infested crewmen were pulling back, converging somewhere on Deck 8. They hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly what the infested crewmen were protecting, but as their numbers decreased, they pulled in tighter and tighter.  
"Science lab," Gonzolas finally said.  
"Dr. Lang!" DiSanto exclaimed, "She's the…the Bug Queen! We've got to help her!"  
"Saddle up," Vorezze said, grabbing a nudism ray.

It wasn't Dr. Lang.  
They found her 10 feet from the doors to the science lab, infested with parasites.  
"Good thing Ben's still out of it," Vorezze said, pointing the nudism ray in her direction.  
"Ummm, sir, why don't you let me take care of that," DiSanto asked.  
Vorezze looked at him strangely.  
"Look, we're friends," Vince said, "You know she's a private sort of person. If anybody has to see her naked…"  
"Fine, I guess if I can trust anybody with a naked woman, it's you," Vorezze shrugged.  
"Thanks. HEY!"  
After Lang had been de-bugified, the Banshee and Stallion officers stood in front of the door to the science lab.  
"Your ship is pretty messed up," Simplot said to Vorezze, "I just want you to know that,"  
"MY ship?" Vorezze crossed his arms, "Lady, I'm flying the top of the line here. That thing of yours barely made it out of the junkyard!"  
"I've seen several of your logs," Gonzolas cut in calmly, gesturing with his tricorder, "You people have issues,"  
"So do you," Vince said cattily, "We don't need to see your logs to know that much!"  
"Oh, we know that," Simplot shrugged, "I just wanted to make sure we all knew where we stood with each other."  
"Yeah, about five minutes from a memory wipe," Vorezze muttered.  
"What was that?" Simplot asked.  
"I said," Vorezze glared, "That despite what you might think, the Banshee is full of highly trained Section 31 specialists-"  
"You still haven't explained this Section 31 thing to us," Annerson said, annoyed.  
"Who will stop at nothing to complete our mission," Vorezze went on, ignoring the interruption, "Whether that's the destruction of a Voran war fleet-"  
"A say-what-now?" Taps frowned.  
"-testing out ultra-transwarp engines-"  
Gonzolas' eyebrows jumped.  
"What kind of engine?" he demanded, losing some of his customary cool.  
"STOP INTURRUPTING MY DRAMATIC DIALOG!" Vorezze seethed. He looked around. "Where was I?"  
"You were about to tell us how the Banshee has been and always will be better than the Stallion," Simplot rolled here eyes, "Believe me, we've heard this speech before."  
"Your whole fleet sat around for weeks waiting for us to get here," DiSanto pointed out, "Sounds to me like you need us pretty badly,"  
"And yet," Annerson put her hands on her hips, "who wound up racing to your rescue?"  
Smith, bored of the argument, was double checking his UV ray, getting ready to open the science lab door and hopefully confront whatever was controlling the parasites. Gonzolas, looking somewhat reluctant to leave the insult battlefield, hefted a nudity ray and joined him by the door.  
"We're dealing with alien parasites enhanced by feeding off a Type-13 sentient!" Lang was saying, sufficiently recovered to join the conversation, "Very, very few ships have had to deal with this sort of thing,"  
"Yeah, then you tried to kill the guy!" Simplot shot back, "And it turned out he wasn't even controlling the things! If you'd gone for HIS help, none of this would have happened!"  
"Hind-sight is 20-20!"  
"That's funny coming from you, four-eyes!" Annerson snapped.  
"HEY! How did you know about that?" Vorezze demanded, "I don't even wear glasses anymore!"  
"Gonzolas looked up your medical record." Annerson said, "My sympathies, by the way,"  
"You bitch!"  
Smith turned to the group.  
"If you're done bickering, we'd like to reveal the master host of the parasites so we can get this thing finished," he said.  
There were assorted grumblings of agreement.  
Smith tapped the door panel, then leapt into action, Gonzolas right next to him.  
"What the…"  
"GET 'IM!"  
"HE'S OVER THERE!"  
ZAP! ZAP!  
They could hear the sound of the nudity ray firing, then the flicker of odd, purplish light as the UV rays fired. They could hear the two men jumping around in the science lab. What they couldn't hear was whatever they were fighting.  
"PARASITE SWARM!" Smith shouted.  
"They're coming out of his mouth!"  
More firing.  
"WATCH OUT!"  
A tiny shape rocketed out into the corridor at full speed, zipping right through Vorezze's legs. In one smooth motion, Simplot drew, aimed and fired her hand phaser, dropping whatever it was to the ground.  
Smith and Gonzolas emerged, tiny scratch marks covering their arms and faces.  
"We might want to go lie down in the tanning beds," Smith said, "Just to be safe,"  
"What was that thing?" Gonzolas demanded.  
Annerson and DiSanto returned from where they'd been UV-raying the creature, a small yet chubby hairless lump in one hand.  
"Well, the nudie-ray made his fur fall off," Vince said, "But it looks like it's…"  
"ZEKE!" Lang cried rushing forward and grabbing the hamster, "OHHH, MY POOR BABY!"  
She clutched him to her chest then moved off, "Did those nasty bugs hurt you Zekie? Ohhh, don't worry. I'll make it all better…"  
As she moved off, the Stallion crew stared blankly at her retreating back.  
"Did we just save you all from a possessed hamster?" Simplot asked incredulously.  
"It's more common than you'd think" Vince said, slightly defensively.  
"Uh-huh,"  
"Why do I care what you think, I'm wiping all your minds anyway!" Vorezze muttered to himself.  
"What was that?" Simplot asked.  
"Ohhh, nothing,"

USS Banshee:

Captain's Log, Supplemental,

With the help of the Stallion we've eliminated the parasites and locked Charlotte in a tanning bed. She might be a bit sunburnt, but Dr. Isaac is confident that between the UV radiation and the various injections and creams he's been administering, she'll be making the transition from 'filthy whore' to 'moderately trashy trailer-park trash' within a day or so. Commander Noonan is fully recovered, though somewhat annoyed that we tried to kill him. But since that apparently happens a lot, he's willing to let bygones be bygones. Unfortunately, he wasn't willing to explain to us what a bygone was.  
As for the Stallion officers themselves, we wiped their memories clean, implanted a nice, false memory that didn't have any mention whatsoever of Section 31, then sent them back to their ship. A quick trip over to their computer core by Commander Smith ensured that their sensor readings confirm our cover story, so there's really no need for us to kill any of them.  
Finally, there was a bit of good news. While the parasites were rooting around with Rachow's mind, they managed to undo some of the damage he suffered during his warp field exposure. He would have healed anyway, but now we've got him back a bit sooner.  
Wait, that's not good news. That's not good news at all!

"F**k you," Rachow muttered from the helm.  
"I don't think so," Vorezze said mildly.  
"Did we even figure out where the bugs were taking us?" DiSanto asked.  
"Noonan thinks they were sensing an inhabited planet somewhere in that direction and wanted to feed on the population," Smith said.  
"Well, another day, another adventure," DiSanto said, standing at the Tactical panel.  
"You'd like to go on my adventure, wouldn't you," Rachow grumbled, "fruitcake,"  
"That didn't even make sense, f**k-tard," Vince shot back.  
"We're positive we sterilized all the seat cushions, right?" Rachow asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  
"I supervised the clean-up crew myself," Vince said, giving Rachow a smug grin.  
Rachow squirmed again.

USS Stallion:

Captain's Log, Supplimental,

We're currently on course to rejoin the fleet en route to Matria Prime, along with the USS Medusa. As it turned out, they had a malfunction in one of their bridge consoles that sent them off course and activated an experimental Sensor-Reflective shielding system. I know they've been installing SR shields on some ships, but really. If we're not allowed to use cloaking devices, why can we use SR shields?

Simplot paused for a moment. Cloaking device. Why was something about that bothering her? Shrugging, she continued recording.

After returning from the Medusa, I've been convince that there's nothing abnormal about them at all. Captain Honeycut was nothing if not professional, his crew was perfectly charming, and I'm confident that we'll be able to work together to accomplish our mission in Matrian Space.

"So, who's up for Crossing Over tonight?" Tereneth asked from the helm.  
"Crossing Over?" Hurken snorted, "Isn't that the horribly inappropriate Terran cartoon, replete with racism, sexual innuendo and violence?"  
"Yup,"  
"I am in," Hurken nodded, "Closest thing I can find to Tellarite entertainment on this ship,"  
"Oh, and every time something gets bleeped out by the auto-censor, we have to chug our drink," Sinclair added.  
"Sounds good to me,"  
As the Stallion officers made their evening plans, Iron Kren sat very quietly at the Environmental Control station. None of the other bridge officers had been paying much attention to the goings-on aboard the Banshee, and so when Captain Vorezze had called them up to discretely see just how much they'd learned about his little secret, Kren had simply played dumb. No, Captain Honeycut, we didn't see anything suspicious while you were unconscious. Yes sir, we'd be more than happy to follow the Medusa back to the fleet. You're right, the Starfleet Annual Ball was a lot of fun this year.  
He'd known damned well as soon as they'd started co-operating with the Banshee crew that the away team was either going to come back in boxes or with some shiny new memories. (He'd suspected the latter, though hoped slightly for the former.) Some part of him was relieved that Simplot, Hurken, Gonzolas and Annerson had returned, unaware of just how much danger they'd been in. The rest of him, however, couldn't help but stare at the image of the USS Banshee and wonder just devious and horrifying plan Captain Vorezze and those other Section 31 agents were concocting.

USS Banshee:

"So, who's up for beer pong tonight?" Vorezze asked.  
"ME!"

End

Written in part in sunny and beautiful Jamaica!


	9. Crossing Lines

Star Traks: Silverado

5.9 – Crossing Lines

Qu'Eh Flagship - In Orbit of Matria Prime  
Invasion of Matria Prime +30 Days, +/- 1 Day, accurate to 85% 19 times out of 20

"Thank you for calling Robellus, this is Den, how may I…"  
"-if you could just reset your subspace transceiver…"  
"-would like to give you a refund, but that's against…"  
"-terribly sorry, but shipping out a new unit without a valid warranty is.."  
"-according to policy, if you do not control your temper, I…"  
"-that's against…"  
"-I'll have to check…"  
"COMPANY POLICY!"  
"Make it stop!" Commander San Jall groaned, lying on his narrow bunk in the prison cell he'd occupied for…well, he didn't really know. More than a week. More than two? Felt more like ten years. The Qu'Eh had apparently grown tired with his attempts to delay his inevitable torture and decided they needed to take some kind of action while he made up his mind on just how exactly he'd like to suffer. (They were still working through his 'Preferred Method of Death' form.) The implant fused against his ear had started whispering a constant stream of voices. At first, he'd been forced to listen to hour upon hour of quality assessments, dealing both with Qu'Eh performance and with the behaviour of the Matrians during the first weeks (month?) of the Qu'Eh occupation. He'd listened to the reports carefully, trying to glean what little nuggets of news and relevant information he could in between passionate Qu'Eh assessors going on about the needs of 'the customer'.  
Somebody must have figured out that feeding him that kind of information wasn't that great an idea, as it wasn't long before his implant had switched over to simply playing back recorded 'customer interactions'. It wasn't until he heard the unmistakable voices of Lt. Cmdr. Stern and Ensign Simmons that he'd realized the horrible truth: The Qu'Eh were slavers.  
Even worse, they were call-center slavers.  
One job that computers, machines and holograms just couldn't seem to replace was that of the call center drone. It was a catch-22 situation: Only highly sophisticated computers could properly mimic the art of conversing with a live being. Unfortunately, any computer that advanced would realize it had been created for a lifetime of calls from usually irate customers and immediately overload its own processor in a form of cybernetic suicide. The Federation had just barely managed to meet its call-center staffing requirements by employing a small army of part-time college students and the strategic use of outsourcing, but the Qu'Eh had apparently decided that conquering and enslaving civilizations worked better.  
Jall couldn't help but wonder just how many species the Qu'Eh had enslaved already. Or how long those species had managed to survive with their sanity intact.  
The force-field of his cell flickered and faded, then Supervisor Neum stepped in, the inevitable padd of forms held in one hand.  
"MISTER JALL!" she cried, her voice pitched almost high enough to crack glass, "'Death by Cellphone-Induced Brain Cancer' is NOT a valid method of death!"  
"I thought the Qu'Eh of all people would appreciate that one," Jall quipped tiredly, tapping the communications implant fused to his head.  
"That is NOT funny!"  
"Ohh, must have hit a nerve on that one," Jall smiled.  
"Mister Jall, we've already had to select your torture for you, don't make us choose your execution method too!" Neum snapped, "We are trying to be as accommodating as possible!"  
"By torturing and killing me?"  
"You made us!" Neum sniffed, "If you'd just worked yourself to death on that ship like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened." She looked at her padd, "And by the way, your deadline to score quality points by attempting to escape by seducing me has expired,"  
"Wow, I am so disappointed,"  
"It's time for your torture!" Neum snapped.  
"You mean this wasn't it?" Jall tapped his implant.  
Neum just gestured to the guards, who stepped in and grabbed Jall by the upper arms.  
"I hope Wowryk's having better luck than this," Jall groaned.

"QUACK!"  
Dr. Noel Wowryk felt a heavy weight strike her back as Agent Jural tackled her, knocking her to the ground seconds before Qu'Eh disruptor blasts filled the air.  
"Quack?" Noel asked, rolling onto her back and firing her phaser back towards the advancing Qu'Eh.  
"You know. 'Get down'," Jural replied, hunting through his jacket. He pulled out an odd-looking piece of technology, looked at it, frowned and put it back.  
"You mean 'duck'!" Wowryk snapped.  
"Well, a duck goes 'quack' doesn't it?" Jural asked, pulling out another device then tucking it away again.  
"It doesn't work that way!" Wowryk said, "And what are you doing?"  
"Matrian Intelligence finally gave me all kinds of neat gizmos for situations like this," Jural replied, "I just keep forgetting which one is which,"  
"How very James Bond of you," Wowryk said dryly.  
Jural pulled out what looked like a standard location-tracker, like an old GPS unit.  
"There we go!" he pulled off a tab then threw it towards the Qu'Eh troops. Seconds later there was a high-pitched shriek and a bright flash of light.  
"And what if you needed to know our location?" Wowryk asked as they got to their feet and resumed running down the back alley.  
"I'd use this," Jural pulled out a stun grenade with a small locater display on one side.  
"This is why I'm a doctor, not a secret agent," Wowryk muttered.  
Wowryk, Jural and Mistress Laheya, the leaders of the Matrian Rebellion, had been chased out of three hideouts in as many days. After the destruction of Matronus Quali-Tech, along with several other smaller operations, the Qu'Eh had abruptly decided the rebel Matrians were more of a threat than they'd originally thought. Counter-insurgency teams had swept through the tunnels under Matronus, driving the rebels out of their primary hiding spot. The three leaders and their subordinates had hidden first in an empty warehouse, then in an old naval shipyard, then finally in largely uninhabited mental health facility. Each time, the Qu'Eh managed to track them down within a day, sending them on the run again. Cut-off from their usual contacts, Wowryk had been forced to route most of her communications through Stafford and the Silverado officers hiding under the desert. Thanks to her, Layeha and Jural along with the untraceable link between the installation and the Matrian communications network (via the Matrian DHQ computers), Haven was now secretly in contact with several rebel cells.  
Which completely defeated the entire attempt to use Wowryk as a symbol of the rebellion.  
"Jural," she said, fighting to keep her breath as they dodged around the back of a building and into another alley, "I think we need to rethink our strategy,"

Matrian Installation 317-B, AKA Haven  
Under the Evendra Desert:

"YANICK!" Captain Christopher Stafford shouted, poking his head around a permanently-opened door and into the dining hall on Level 20 of the command tower, "TRISH? ARE YOU IN HERE?"  
"She most certainly is not," sniffed Patsy Horton, her fingertips mere centimetres from her ears, wincing from the shouting, "Now sod off and stop annoying my customers!"  
Stafford looked around. Crewmen Shwaluk and Gibson where seated near a large, dark window picking at something green that had come out of the Matrian replicator.  
"She's not here," he cursed to himself.  
"But while you are," Horton jumped in, "I hear they found a café or restaurant near the Transit Hub. With your permission, I'd like to-"  
"Sorry, Ms. Horton," Stafford shrugged, "Some of the Matrian civilians already claimed it. Have you seen Yanick? I need to find her?"  
"Sod off!" Horton repeated firmly, stalking away.  
"Think she's been trapped down here a little too long," Stafford muttered.

Stafford found himself squeezing through a narrow, twisting corridor off the main level of the Transit Hub. He'd had to climb down over 20 levels of stairs, walk from the command tower lobby, past a series of defunct security stations, out to the base of Tower 3, down a few more levels of stairs to the main level and then through a non-descript door that Lt. Cmdr. Valtaic had opened two days before. Slowly but surely, the secret installation was opening up to them. Of course, for every room with an obvious purpose there were at least a hundred that were empty, incomplete or just plain incomprehensible.  
The chamber Stafford found himself in didn't fall into one of those categories. It was clearly a kitchen. Several Matrian men were working over countertops or cooking surfaces while another brought in an armful of replicated ingredients.  
Stafford had to admit it, whatever they were making smelled better than the 100% replicated stuff Horton was serving upstairs.  
"Uh, have you seen Yanick?" he asked, "Blond girl, yay high?"  
"Dining room, Mr. Minister," one of the men said before turning back to his work.  
"Actually, I resigned that," Stafford tried.  
"Not according to the King & Queen's Newsletter," the man shrugged.  
"Later," Stafford muttered to himself. He stepped out of the kitchen and into what was definitely a comfortable-looking restaurant. What he assumed was the main entrance was sealed off with security gates; even Valtaic couldn't open those up. The place was nicer than Unbalanced Equations, but Stafford had once glimpsed the Admiral's Lounge in Starfleet HQ, and this place was still a few notches below that level. Restaurants in military establishments were anything but unusual. (His history professor at the Academy had informed them that one of Earth's old nation-states had planted a Tim Horton's in the middle of a war-torn battle-zone, but Stafford had decided that was just some kind of joke.)  
Lt. Trish Yanick was seated at one of the tables with an older Matrian man, picking at some kind of soup and listening intently to what he was saying.  
"Trish!" Stafford shouted.  
Yanick looked up, but instead of giving him her usual radiant smile, Stafford could have sworn there was a look of panic in her eyes. Stafford's eyes glanced from her to the Matrian and back again.  
Uh-oh. Yanick. And a man. In a restaurant that very few Starfleet personnel had found their way into.  
"It's not what you think," Yanick said immediately.  
"Ummmm." Stafford bit his lip. What to say? What to do? Where could he hide from T'Parief for the next month?  
"Christopher Rico Stafford, take that look off your face," Yanick said, rising and putting her hands on her hips. She immediately winced, one hand going for her stomach.  
Stafford jumped forward, awkward situation forgotten.  
"Trish! Are you OK?" he demanded.  
"Just gassy," she said, pushing him away, "This is Dr. Hent, by the way. The Matrian Surgeon General,"  
Stafford nodded, then turned back to Yanick.  
"We need to go," he said, "I've been looking for you for over an hour!"  
"Why didn't you…right. I turned my comm-badge off," Yanick slapped herself lightly on the forehead and giggled, "Silly me!"  
"Yeah, do you know how many flights of stairs I had to climb?" he demanded.  
"Why didn't you just get some underlings to do it?"  
Stafford glared at her, realization dawning.  
"Let's just go," he said, "Noel wants extraction."  
Yanick was through the kitchen and into the warren of narrow corridors in a heartbeat.  
"You gotta wait for me!" Stafford called after her.

Stafford finally caught up to Yanick in the Transit Hub. He found her standing on one of the platforms, looking out into the vast, ring-shaped space and tapping her foot impatiently.  
"Where's the tram? I don't have all day!" she complained.  
"Considering I already spent an hour looking for you," Stafford rolled his eye, "Only to find that you'd snuck off for a private dinner with a handsome Matrian doctor." Stafford frowned, "Wait, was he handsome? I can never tell with these things,"  
"He's like, 90," Yanick shook her head, "And it wasn't a date! I just needed a bit of…medical advice! AND WHERE'S THAT TRAM!?"  
"Medical advice?" Stafford frowned again, his eyes moving towards Yanick's slightly bloated stomached as her mood swung from 'eager rescue pilot' to 'angry public transit user'. Suddenly, all the little hints from the previous weeks added up. The nausea, the moods and the cramps. It could only mean one thing: "OH MY GOD! YOU'RE-"  
Yanick jumped up, tackling him to the ground. Granted, she wasn't very big. But the shear surprise of the move sent Stafford pin wheeling back, missing the guard rail and sprawling back into the tram track's antigravity field.  
"I am not pregnant!" Yanick hissed angrily.  
"But…"  
"NOT PREGNANT!"  
"OK! OK!" Stafford submitted, "You're not pregnant, and it's none of my business!"  
There was a loud humming as a tram eased out of the nearest tunnel and came straight at them. Second before impact, the track antigravity field pulsed, sending Yanick and Stafford flying back onto the platform where they landed in a tangle of limbs.  
"Must be some kind of safety system," Stafford mumbled.  
"Owie," Yanick replied.  
The doors hissed open and Queen Anselia, co-leader of the Matrian government stepped out. She was looking a little less regal than usual, what with her wearing the same cloths all month, but she'd clearly been making good use of the hygienic facilities they'd found so far.  
"Lt. Yanick, Minister Stafford," she said coldly, nodding at them, "Might I suggest that you finish your…activities…in the privacy of your own quarters?"  
"I'm not your minister anymore!" Stafford said, climbing to his feet, "I resigned! And we just...fell over!"  
"I refuse to accept your resignation," Anselia said simply.  
"Look, we can bicker about this later! We have to go rescue Wowryk from the Qu'Eh!"  
"Actually, you don't" Anselia said calmly, "I have just overseen the departure of a Matrian extraction team. They should have her back in two hours,"  
"WHAT?" Stafford and Yanick exclaimed loudly, "WHO? WHY?"  
"Shall we find a more appropriate location for this discussion?" Anselia said, very professionally.  
"I can give you an appropriate location for my boot!" Stafford said, "Up your-"  
Yanick smacked him.  
"Do you really want to have this conversation here?" she said softly, pointing up at the balconies overhead.  
"Good point," Stafford grumbled, "Fine, there's a…a something with chairs a couple levels up this tower," he pointed up at the ornate staircase leading up out of their section of the Transit Hub.  
"Excellent," Anselia started walking towards the stairs. She turned suddenly towards Yanick, "Oh, and congratulations on your pregnancy. When We get out of here, We will send you a shrimp basket,"  
"I'M NOT PREGNANT!"

Lt. Travis Pye stepped out of the Jefferies tube hatch and onto the empty bridge of the USS Silverado.  
"OK, Sage, bring it up," he said into his helmet radio.  
There was a hum, almost imperceptible, then the main lighting flickered to life. There was another soft sound as the air recirculation system activated. Finally, Pye floated gently to the deck as the artificial gravity ramped up to normal levels.  
"Auxiliary power restored," Sage reported, "to decks 1 to 10. And Impulse Engineering, anyway."  
"Great. So now we can take off the suits while we work on everything else," Pye muttered, cracking his helmet.  
They'd been working on repairs to the ship for weeks now. Every circuit had been fried by Jall's last-minute attempt at sabotage. Even now, all the bridge consoles were still dark, the viewscreen was still broken and half of the conn/ops console had melted away. But at least now they had some power up and running and it was time to start working on getting the actual systems working again.  
"4 days behind schedule," Supervisor Blon, the current Silverado manager was saying, "That's going to reflect very badly on your quarterly review!"  
"Whatever," Pye muttered.  
The Silverado crew, those who were still aboard ship, were on the verge of a crisis. Commander Jall had been arrested by the Qu'Eh, who still insisted that they work to repair Silverado so it could become part of the Qu'Eh fleet. The relief fleet from Starfleet was now overdue, the Qu'Eh controlled news reports were stating that rebel activity in all major cities was slowly but surely being crushed and there'd been no new broadcast from the rebels since Wowryk's initial message.  
On top of that, the crew was burning out.  
Between the weeks of travelling to get to Matria Prime, the first Qu'Eh attack, the rush to prepare for the second wave, the second Battle of Matria Prime, capture and interrogation by the Qu'Eh and now weeks of working in environmental suits and living in a shuttlebay, the hundred or so officers and crew that were still aboard the ship were ready to crack. Quality Assessments, held three times a day, reflected a decreasing trend in member participation, and the forms that were coming back were…  
Whoah.  
Pye stopped for a moment to rub his temples. He was not a Qu'Eh. He didn't care about quality assessments, stupid forms or his quarterly review. He only wanted one thing: to have Silverado ready enough to cause the Qu'Eh problems when the fleet arrived.  
They just needed to hold out a bit longer.  
"Well, we're just going to have to get to the bottom of this performance issue," Blon was saying, "I think we need to do a Quality Audit, followed by a Motivational Workshop. Doesn't that sound lovely?"  
Pye closed his eyes.  
Screw holding out. They needed rescue. And fast!

Stafford led Yanick and Ansleia out of the Tower 3 stairwell, down a short hallway paneled in some sort of red stone and into a room that could be a conference room, a lounge, or even a private dining room. Whatever it was, there was a large table in the center, several chairs and a broad window looking out into the blackness of the cavern. Stafford stood in front of the window for a moment. In the distance, he thought he could see a lit window out on the outer rim, where the Matrians had been living for a while.  
"I really wish we could get the power on out there," he mused, "What the hell were your people hiding down here?"  
"When this crisis is over, we can come back with an army of environmental suits and flashlights," Anselia said dryly.  
"Hmm. Stafford to Valtaic," he tapped his comm-badge, "Any report from the Matrian rescue team?"  
There was a moment of silence.  
"And what Matrian rescue team is that?" the alien officer asked politely.  
Stafford glared at Anselia.  
"Send somebody out to the hanger," Stafford ordered, "I want to know the second there's any news!"  
"As you wish." Still sounding confused, Valtaic closed the channel.  
"So you not only sent a team out of the installation, you didn't bother to tell anybody?" Stafford said, his voice wavering just a bit, "What if they were captured? What if they were tracked!? We'd have zero warning!"  
"I was on my way to make the proper notifications when we met," Anselia said, chin high, "I'm not stupid!"  
"Oh, but you figured if you tried discussing this whole Matrian rescue thing with me first that I'd put up a fight? That it was just better to go behind my back?"  
"Yes," Anselia replied, "Absolutely,"  
"WHY?"  
"Christopher, we agreed that the Matrian Defence Force would be largely absorbed into Starfleet," Anselia said, "And that Starfleet would provide ships to enforce stability in this region."  
"Right," now Stafford was wary.  
"We did NOT agree that we would sit back and let Starfleet do everything," Anselia went on, "And after your little…escapade…into Matronus, the Council has been pushing for more participation on our part."  
"Well that's…" Stafford frowned, "That's great, actually,"  
"And that you remain as Minister of Planetary Defence. We do not accept your resignation,"  
"DAMMIT!"  
"I guess that's why those Matrians were asking me about anti-grav piloting," Yanick said innocently, "And where I kept the puke bags,"  
"We have been preparing for several days for just such an event," Anselia said smugly, "We've copied your sensor-reflective shielding onto one of our scouts and prepared our pilots to fly undetected to and from the facilility,"  
"Why didn't you tell me this stuff?" Stafford exclaimed, "Jeffery could have rigged another SR system, and Yanick…"  
"We had to do this ourselves, Christopher," Anselia cut him off, "Unless we show ourselves capable of standing on our own, your people will consider us subordinates, not equals. And we will not be subordinate to you, the Qu'Eh, or anybody else for that matter."  
"Now, Miss Yanick, if you'll excuse us, we have private matters to discuss."  
After Yanick had left, Anselia dropped her 'professionally polite' façade.  
"You defied us, Christopher," she said quietly, "Us, the council, the people of Matria Prime,"  
"And things turned out pretty good, didn't they?" Stafford said, a bit off-guard, "We helped Wowryk get your rebellion moving, we've got contacts in Matrian Intelligence and DHQ and we've started running missions out of Haven."  
"Yes, the council is pleased overall," Anselia said, moving closer to him, "But We are not. You have defied us, humiliated us and dishonoured us."  
She lunged at him. Before he knew what has happening, she'd snapped binders on his wrists and shoved him back onto the table.  
"And there will be…consequences!"

Up in the command complex, Fifebee and Valtaic were continuing their mapping of the facility. Both were seated at Matrian control pulpits, which had been disconnected from the facility's systems and interfaced with a small Federation computer core. T'Parief was pacing the wide, ring-shaped second level, co-ordinating the various security teams as they explored the seemingly endless installation.  
"Security teams report that they've gained access to what has been designated Shipyard 3," he called up to Valtaic on the third level, "They report no space-frames or hulls under construction. They will begin exploring and cataloguing the contents of the surrounding cargo bays, however an initial glance has shown the first three to be empty,"  
"Ack", Valtaic responded, keying in the data.  
"Shipyard 1 is so far the only shipyard that appears to have been active at the time of the lockdown," Fifebee remarked.  
"Considering that all the shipyards, assuming we find the six we are expecting, were buried, one must consider why any were active," Valtaic replied.  
"We don't know that there's any actual ground blocking them, or if it's just sand," Fifebee replied, "Which reminds me, T'Parief, I believe we were going to send a team outside to try to determine that?"  
"I have passed that request over to the Matrians," T'Parief replied, "At the Captain's instruction,"  
"Excellent,"  
And so on, and so forth. Office talk, really. Just a bunch of people doing their jobs, despite the fact that they were wearing the same uniforms they'd put on over a month ago.  
There was a hiss as a pair of turbolift doors on the lower level opened. T'Parief's slow orbit of the outer walkway had brought him just into the right position for Valtaic to cock his head in an inquiring gesture. T'Parief grunted. Unfortunately, the turbolift door that had opened was on the other side of the central column. He had no idea who was there.  
What a stupid design for a control center, anyway! Security was an absolute nightmare!  
He moved quickly around the outer ring, trying to get a view of whoever had come up. As the column cleared his field of view he saw…nobody?  
They must have gone around the other side!  
He quickly reversed his direction, turning back the way he came.

On the opposite side of the command complex, Yanick changed direction; sure she'd heard T'Parief coming around. Excellent!  
After a moment of walking around the lower walkway and seeing nothing, she changed direction again. T'Parief must be the other way.

"How long shall we allow this to continue?" Valtaic asked Fifebee as Yanick and T'Parief, oblivious to the situation, simultaneously changed directions for a third time, each still unable to see the other. From the third level, Fifebee and Valtaic had a perfect view of what was happening.  
"Until it is no longer funny," Fifebee replied immediately.  
Valtaic opened his mouth to call down to T'Parief. Fifebee quickly slapped a hand over his mouth.  
"It is still funny," she said flatly.  
Valtaic eyed her for a moment, then went back to work.

Stafford was seated in one of the small lounges attached to the Transit Hub crossover bridges when Jeffery rushed by.  
"Hey, Chris," the engineer said, giving a sort of half-way. He stopped, then did a double-take. Stafford's hair was mussed, his face was red, his uniform rumbled and Jeffery was pretty sure he had bruises forming on his neck.  
"What the devil happened to ye?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Anselia happened to me," Stafford said, swallowing, "She decided I was getting acting a bit too…independently…for her tastes. I don't want to talk about."  
"Um…OK,"  
"But I want you to know Simon," Stafford gulped, "I didn't cry,"

Finally, after a few more rounds Yanick and T'Parief caught up with each other.  
"Hi Pari," Yanick said, giving a sort of half-way.  
"Trish," T'Parief said.  
"No, this is Lieutenant Kennerdy, in Hanger 11," a voice came out of his comm-badge, "Look, Crewman Mong has finished fuelling up the Old Matrian ships down here, but Commander Jeffery needs somebody who can read Matrian before he can start the power-up sequences,"  
"Then let Jeffery deal with that, I'm busy," T'Parief replied, closing the channel. He turned to Yanick. He couldn't help but gaze briefly at her swelling stomach. The signs had been there for a while; the nausea, the vomiting, and now the swelling stomach. He knew, intellectually, that the odds of her conceiving where almost nothing, but still…what else could these signs mean? He had refused to say anything about it. Odds were, whatever was happening to Yanick's body had nothing to do with him. That, and she'd been making painfully obvious attempts to hide whatever was wrong from him. From the look on her face, that was about to change. Ok, there was no way she could actually be pregnant. Had to be some kind of gastro thing. There was no way she'd swell up in a just a couple weeks if she was pregnant.  
Was there?  
"Don't look at me like that!" Yanick suddenly cried shrilly.  
"Like…like what?"  
"Like I'm a giant…baby-bomb!" she said, clenching her fists, "I can see the panic in your eyes! I've already had this conversations with Chris!"  
Fifebee was now staring down from the upper level. Even Valtaic had a look of surprise on his face.  
"I'M NOT PREGNANT!" Yanick shrieked up at them. They quickly retreated.  
"You saw a doctor?" T'Parief demanded, trying not to let his relief show.  
"I saw the Matrian doctor," Yanick clarified, speaking more quietly "He says it's a…a false pregnancy. I'm just retaining fluid. It should go away in a few weeks,"  
"I see," T'Parief nodded, "And will the mood swings be fading as well?"  
Yanick tried to bop him on the head. Unfortunately, she couldn't reach. She settled for punching him in the chest, repeatedly.  
"I'M NOT HAVING MOOD SWINGS!" she snapped, in between punches.  
"Trish," T'Parief said, keeping his voice level, "Let's go down and discuss this in a…a more private setting,"  
"This inna Trish," Jeffery's voice came from the comm-badge, "But if ye see her, could ye get her to liaison a Matrian translator over ta-"  
"NOT NOW!" T'Parief grumbled loudly, cutting the channel.  
"Stafford to Yanick," Yanick's comm-badge immediately beeped.  
"Not now, Chris!" she snapped, cutting the channel.  
"Ohhh, Pari," Yanick sighed, ceasing her assault, "This isn't your fault, I shouldn't be getting angry at you!"  
"Stafford to T'Parief," T'Parief's comm-badge beeped.  
"But I have EVERY right to get angry at all these interruptions!" she snapped.  
Warily, T'Parief opened the channel.  
"Tell Yanick to calm down," Stafford said immediately, "There's no way her day's been worse than mine's been! And I need both of you to meet me in the Transit Hub,"  
"We're in the middle of something-"  
"The Matrian extraction team due back in an hour. I though Yanick would want to come wait out in the hanger." Stafford cut him off.  
"Be there in a jiff!" Yanick said, grabbing T'Parief's arm and pulling him towards the turbolifts.

After a short wait and a seemingly endless (and very, very quiet) tram ride out to the hanger bay, Stafford was pacing up and down the corridor outside the bay control room while Yanick sat on one of the corridor hand-rails. T'Parief was standing rigidly halfway up the corridor, almost like one of those suit-of-armour statues or something.  
"This waiting is driving me nuuuuuuts," Stafford groaned, looking into the hanger for the hundredth time. The corridor they'd chosen was six floors above the main hanger deck, with broad transparent panels looking into the hanger, directly at a Senousian ship berthed on one of the movable platforms.  
"And your pacing is driving us nuts!" Yanick said.  
"What, you've lived with me for how many years now and it still bothers you?" Stafford asked.  
"Not really," Yanick shrugged, "But I took your mind off Wowryk for a minute, didn't I?"  
"Hmmm," Stafford crossed his arms and looked out in the hanger.  
The huge doors were closed, as they were when the hanger had been first discovered. A few feet away the angular, transparent sides of the control booth jutted into the bay, looking almost like a strangely shaped gem. Inside, one of the Nakeths was standing on a chair, fiddling with a mess of wires running out of one wall. The control pulpits in the booth were similar to the ones in the command complex and the rear wall was the same strange red pattern, setting the chamber slightly apart from the more utilitarian corridors surrounding the corridors.  
"You'd think they'd have a better place to wait for ships than this," Stafford sighed,  
T'Parief was silent. Yanick just sort of shrugged. Stafford's gaze flickered between the two of them.  
"Ohhh…you two have had a 'talk', huh?"  
T'Parief bared his teeth.  
"It's not your business," Yanick said politely.  
"Ahem. Of course. Right. Shutting up now."  
Stafford resumed his pacing.  
"It's not that I don't understand why Anselia and Hektor sent a Matrian team," he said suddenly, "And I get why she kept it from us until the last minute, I really do. They felt like they had something to prove. And maybe they're right. This is their planet after all, isn't it?"  
"The Klingons would approve," T'Parief grumbled.  
"Yeah, exactly!" Stafford agreed, "They want to be an active part of the Federation, not a charity case!"  
"Goody," Yanick said half-heartedly, "Then what's the problem?"  
Stafford turned back to the window.  
"It's Noel out there," he said softly, "She pisses the hell out of me half the time we're together-"  
"I know how that feels," Yanick muttered. T'Parief let out an aggravated throat-rattle.  
"What with the conversion attempts, and the promises of eternal damnation, and the threats against my testicles," Stafford went on, "But…dammit…"  
"It should be you out there?" Yanick asked.  
"F**k no!" Stafford exclaimed, "It should be the Hazardous Team out there! I'm not much of a fighter, but Stern and those guys totally get off on that kind of thing!"  
"In Stern's case, I suspect that may be very true," T'Parief replied, "literally,"  
"It's OK," Stafford said, looking slightly enigmatic, "He'll get his chance very soon,"  
"A mission?" T'Parief perked up.  
"Here we go again with the mission!" Yanick complained, "Always with the missions! It's a good thing I'm NOT pregnant! What kind of kid needs a father who's always off killing stuff!"  
Stafford was rubbing his temples now. The hanger bay doors will still closed, and there was no sign from anybody on the hanger floor that they were expecting an imminent landing. Coloured motion three levels down up caught his eye. He looked over to see Anselia and Hektor standing in one of the lower corridors, looking down into the bay.  
"I'm gonna go see what's up," Stafford said, "See you when they get in,"  
He turned to leave.  
"We'll come," Yanick said, jumping off her perch.  
"No you won't," Stafford called back, "You've got issues to deal with,"  
Yanick stopped in her tracks as if stung.  
"He's right," T'Parief nodded, "We have…unfinished business,"

"Minister," King Hektor nodded as Stafford approached the royal 'couple'. (They weren't actually a couple; they were elected temporarily into their positions.)  
"Any word?" Stafford asked.  
"The extraction team was being pursued by a Qu'Eh vessel after they picked up Dr. Wowryk, Agent Jural and Mistress Laheya," Anselia said, "They flew into a storm system over J'Taeri District to shake them, and we lost contact,"  
Stafford started grinding his teeth.  
"You have little faith in our people," Hektor observed dryly.  
"They haven't exactly done this kind of thing before," Stafford pointed out.  
"Some of the soldiers on our extraction ship are the same ones that carried out kidnapping raids against the Senousians before the reawakening," Anselia pointed out quietly, "We remind you that although they don't remember a lot of that time, they haven't exactly spent the past century toothless,"  
"Ahem," Stafford cringed a bit, "Right,"  
Stafford looked up into the other corridor, where Yanick and T'Parief seemed to be having a calm discussion.  
"Well, at least those two are figuring things out," he remarked, "Man, I sure stuck my foot in it there."  
"We are sure it's a temporary thing," Anselia waved a hand, "She did see a doctor, did she not?"  
"Yeah," Stafford said, "Just a temporary thing. It happens sometimes, it's just too bad we were all so thoughtless about…HEY!"  
Up in the corridor, Yanick and T'Parief had apparently moved out of the argument phase and into the make-up phase.  
Stafford pounded one fist against the transparent panel.  
"PEOPLE CAN SEE YOU!" he shouted.  
Craigan jogged up the hallway, waving at Anselia.  
"They're on final approach, your Majesty," he said. He looked out the window.  
"I'll never understand why the lizard gets hugs and kisses and all I got was a kick to the head," he muttered.  
"Maybe because you kidnapped her," Stafford said dryly, clapping the guy on the shoulder and running down to the hanger floor.

Stafford rushed out one of the lower level corridors and into the hanger at the same time Yanick and T'Parief emerged, slightly out of breath, from another. Jeffery was already sprinting across the bay towards the slightly battered-looking Matrian scout. The hatch had already opened and several Matrian troops had filed out, looking oddly professional despite their lack of uniforms. Jural and Laheya were next, turning their heads as they took in the huge, hanger bay. Finally, they were followed by a very tired-looking Wowryk.  
"Noel! You-"  
"so good to see"  
"yer in once piece! Thank-"  
"QUIET!" Wowryk snapped. Everybody took an involuntary half-step back.  
"I'm sorry," she said at a more conversation level, "I've just…it's just that things have been very loud lately, what with the attacks and the explosions and all that,"  
"Oh, what were we thinking," Yanick said, giving Wowryk a hug then taking her arm, "Let's go…I made sure we had some quarters setup for you. You can shower, get something to eat and have a nap,"  
As she spoke, Wowryk's eyes had widened and flickered over to Stafford's face. She'd felt the slight swelling around Yanick's belly during the hug. Behind Yanick, Stafford was shaking his head and making rapid slashing gestures across his throat.  
"Thank you, Trish," Wowryk said, "Jural and Laheya will need quarters as well. Could you take them while I talk to the Captain?"  
"Um, it's sort of a long way," Yanick said, "We have to take a train,"  
Jural started.  
"It's a big place," Yanick finished.  
"Look, just go on ahead and meet us at the tram station," Stafford told Yanick. He turned to T'Parief, "get the HT down here and find Jeffery. I'll be back in a bit."

"I'm really glad you're back here safely," Stafford said to Wowryk as they hung several feet behind the other extractee's in the corridor, "I wanted to send the HT to get you, but the Matrians…"  
"Layeha, Jural and I already discussed it," Wowryk nodded, "And it's good. But what's with Trish?"  
"Ohh, I don't know," Stafford shook his head, "She went to see a Matrian doctor, he told her it's nothing, but since the symptoms are so close to pregnancy, she's been getting a few…um…comments that she's really not liking,"  
"I see."  
They walked in quiet for a few more minuets.  
"We have a problem," Wowryk said, "I didn't want to say it around the Matrians. But we've got a leak,"  
"A LEAK?" Stafford demanded, "We just brought you all back to the most closely guarded secret in the Matrian Republic and you have a LEAK?"  
"Not about this place," Wowryk said, trying to shush him, "None of the rebels know this place exists, except for Jural and Layeha! But our headquarter's kept getting hit, no matter where we moved it! I checked everybody for tracking bugs, subcutaneous transmitters, radiation traces, the works!"  
She shook her head.  
"I'm certain the Qu'Eh have come up with a way of getting captured rebels to talk. Once is expected. Twice is bad luck. Three times is trouble."  
Stafford froze.  
"If they've got something like that…" he said slowly.  
"Like something salvaged from the Matrian Dream Machines?" Wowryk said, "Not enough to recreate the whole thing, but maybe just enough to tweak somebody's personality into co-operating?"  
"S**t," Stafford went pale, "And if it's working on captured rebels, it could work on captured Starfleet officers,"  
"Like Jall," Wowryk said, "If they haven't already,"  
"I gotta go," Stafford said, turning back towards the hanger, "The HT's mission just got bumped up. Yanick will show you how to get into the island towers from the Transit Hub. Oh, and the Matrians have a neat little mess hall setup on the lower level. It's a pain to find, but it beats climbing up 20 levels for Horton's replicated stuff!"  
He ran off.  
"What kind of bunker is this, anyway?" Wowryk wondered to herself.

T'Parief had found Stern and the rest of the HT lounging in one of the sets of quarters they'd taken along the inside of the facilities outer rim. He usually didn't bother looking at silly things like furnishings or décor, but he couldn't help but notice that these quarters were more Spartan than the ones he'd been assigned in one of the island towers. Maybe he should move out here with the HT? The island was just getting a bit too…comfortable.  
In any event, Stern and the others had immediately jumped up from the sofas (they'd dragged in a couple extra ones) and followed him back to the hanger. Seconds later, Stafford ran in.  
"Go get your gear," he said, a bit out of breath, "This just turned into an emergency mission,"  
"What's the mission?" Stern asked.  
"You're going up to Silverado and you're getting the rest of our people back," Stafford said.  
"It's about f**king time!" Simmons cried. Stern smacked him.  
"I'd wanted to take more time to plan this out," Stafford said, "But Wowryk just informed me that the Qu'Eh may have gotten their hands on some…advanced interrogation methods.  
"We've been planning this for a while, sir," Stern said, "Give me two hours and a comm-link to one of the rebel cells in Matronus and we'll be ready to go,"  
"You've got 15 minutes," Stafford said flatly.  
Stern's eyes bugged out.  
"MARSDEN! Get your ass up into the command complex and have Jural setup a-"  
"I'm kidding!" Stafford interrupted him, "You've got an hour."  
Stern thought for a moment.  
"MARSDEN!" he repeated, "Get your ass up into the command complex and have Jural setup a secure line! The rest of you, grab your gear and meet me back here in 15 minutes for briefing!"  
Stafford moved to where T'Parief was watching.  
"And now it's time to step back and watch the professionals at work," he said.  
"You mean watch Simmons try to remember which end of the tetryon claymore is the dangerous end," T'Parief remarked.  
"Right. That."  
T'Parief squared his shoulders.  
"In any event, we will not let you down,"  
He nodded at Stafford, then moved off to join Stern.  
Stafford raised a finger as if to speak, thought for a moment, then lowered.  
"Hmm. He is Chief of Security after all," he shrugged.

Jeffery was alone in the hanger workshop, tweaking the sensor-reflective device they'd rigged on the runabout Asessippi. They'd brought as much material down from Silverado as possible when they'd evacuated, and SR shielding specs had recently been added to their inventory. Of course, installing them on anything as big as Silverado was a dry-dock issue, but setting some up for the runabouts and the smaller Matrian and Senousian vessels wasn't that big a problem. Still, up until now they'd had the advantage of operating on antigravity drive within the planet's atmosphere, with all the handy bits of interference generated by a technologically advanced society. Now, the HT was taking the runabout into space in an attempt to rendezvous with Silverado and Jeffery wasn't convinced that his rigged system was up to par.  
"Mr. Jeffery?" a familiar voice.  
Jeffery looked down from the upper hull of the runabout to see Craigan, the Old Matrian rebel they'd found frozen in the facility.  
"Aye, Mr. Craigan, what can Ah do for ye?"  
"You're going on the mission to free your people," it was a statement, not a question.  
"Aye. Chris and T'Parief figure there's probably gonna be a need for some engineering wizardry, so here Ah am," Jeffery replied good-naturedly.  
"I want to come as well,"  
"Chris doesn't want any Matrian involvement in this one," Jeffery replied, not unkindly, "This is a Starfleet mission to rescue a Starfleet crew,"  
"I'm not coming as a member of the Matrian government. Or rebellion. Or anything." Craigan replied.  
"Then why come?" Jeffery shook his head, "Ah mean, we really don't need ye,"  
"I haven't left this bunker in over 200 years," Craigan reminded him, "I want to see what's happened to my world. And I don't know why, but something is telling me that I've got to go with your people. I've learned all I can from in here,"  
"Ah'm not in command of the mission," Jeffery said, adjusting one of the power conduits, "But if Ah was, Ah'd say no. It's dangerous enough; ye'd just be addin' another variable to the mix,"  
"We both know I could have Queen Anselia or King Hektor order Minister Stafford to allow me to go,"  
"And we both know how much Chris LOVES dealing with those two right now," Jeffery shot back.  
T'Parief had strode into the work bay, arms laden with gear.  
"What is the problem?" he demanded.  
"The rebel boy here wants to come," Jeffery explained, tossing a piece of rubbish down onto the floor, "Something about seeing what's happened to his planet from the outside,"  
"Very well," T'Parief nodded, "Take a phaser, follow orders and stay out of my way,"  
"Whot, just like that?" Jeffery demanded.  
"You'd rather argue about it? I have had enough arguments for today," T'Parief said firmly, "It is time to go and shoot something,"  
"Fair enough,"

By the time the hour was up, the Asessippi had been lowered down into the hanger bay, the huge door had swung ponderously open and several Silverado crewmen had gathered in the corridors lining the bay to watch the rescue mission depart.  
Stafford, Wowryk, Anselia and Hektor were standing on the railed walkway connecting to the landing platform, watching as the runabout hatch hissed shut.  
"We are not pleased about Craigan leaving on this mission," Anselia said, "He has been acting very strangely lately,"  
"Stafford to T'Parief," Stafford tapped his comm-badge, "Umm…not to question your tactical decisions, but did you decide to take a Matrian with you without consulting me?"  
"I did," T'Parief confirmed, "It is an usual situation. Is there a problem?"  
Stafford thought for a moment. Weighed the annoyance of not being included in that little decision against the irritation he could here in the large reptile's voice, then considered the fact that Anselia was apparently pissed as well.  
"No problem," Stafford said cheerfully, "Just keeping myself in the loop, is all,"  
"In the interests of stealth, I suggest we cut that loop until we return,"  
With a pulse of its antigrav units, the runabout eased out into the desert.

In the runabout cockpit, Craigan sat in one of the rear seats, across from Jeffery. Yanick was piloting while T'Parief worked the co-pilot station.  
"Sensor-reflective systems are workin'," Jeffery reported from the rear, "At least, Ah think they are. Maybe we're just the little kid coverin' his eyes and saying 'ye can't see me'!"  
"Take us towards the north pole," T'Parief ordered, "Random course changes. Then up in to orbit,"  
"It's good to be flying a Starfleet ship again," Yanick mused. She pulsed the antigrav, sending everybody clutching for their restraints. In the rear compartment, the Hazardous Team was preparing vomit bags and cleaning supplies.  
Craigan was silent, staring out the window at the seemingly endless vista of sand. A rear display showed the curved, sandy hill covering the installation he'd been buried in for hundreds of years. Only the one hanger door revealed that anything was there, and even that was only visible if you were at exactly the right angle. Craigan tapped a panel, accessing the runabouts sensors. There was a slight energy reading from the masking/interference field surrounding the installation, but it was barely detectable, even with the runabout now mere kilometres from the site.  
The decision to keep the installation hidden was made before construction even started, Craigan. That turned out to have been a very wise decision.  
Craigan looked around. Yanick and T'Parief were still tapping their panels, the runabout was still jolting periodically like a toy car on a trampoline and Jeffery was still going on about sensor stuff. Outside his window, the desert was giving way to grasslands. None of them had said anything about the installation or its construction.  
The situation was already volatile; what with the early signs of the Male Rebellion. The last thing we needed was protestors. Or even worse, saboteurs. Of course, nobody could have predicted what the rebellion would to do Matronus. At least, that's what I'd thought before.  
Craigan pushed the voice out of his head and looked back out the window.

It wasn't long before they were in orbit of the planet.  
Craigan had visited Old Matronus, as everybody called it now, when he was younger. He'd had an aunt who'd lived in the orbital city and had gone to spend some time with her. One of the memories he'd always treasured was waking up early in the city's day/night cycle, walking out into the living room of her apartment and watching as the globe of Matria Prime came into view. He remembered how the sun had reflected off the clouds, the way the oceans seemed to sparkle, even from orbit, and how the vast forests of Agera Continent were clearly visible, even from space.  
Now Old Matronus was gone, blasted into millions of pieces by the very rebellion he'd been a part of-

Craigan shook his head. Something was wrong with that train of thought. But anyway, Old Matronus was gone, his aunt was gone, the Male Rebellion was gone and everybody he'd cared about was gone.  
(Except for….)  
A name almost came to Craigan's lips. He stared out at the planet; at the wasteland where a nuclear bombardment had eaten up hundreds of square kilometres of Minkat District. He could see the lights of the empty city of Raleesh, restored by male labour since the war but still empty; the Council of Governors having chosen to relocate its population for reasons Craigan didn't know. And in orbit he could see broken satellites, abandoned space stations, and a veritable fleet of alien vessels.  
"Not exactly what ye were wantin' to see, is it?" Jeffery asked quietly, having come over to Craigan's seat.  
"It's what I expected," Craigan said, "I saw the holo-images in the command complex,"  
"It's never the same," Jeffery said, "It's yer home,"  
"What would you know about it? From what I understand, your home-world is a paradise!"  
Jeffery shrugged.  
"Ah shouldn't be tellin' ye this, but back when Ah was an ensign, the ship Ah was on, the USS Raglan, hit a temporal anomaly and wound up in the Sol System during the Third World War," he said, "We got out easy, just came about and went right back through the anomaly, closed it up with a particle beam and Bob's yer uncle. But we were there long enough to get very, very detailed sensor readings of an Eastern Coalition nuclear attack,"  
Jeffery's lips tightened and he looked out Cragain's window.  
"Ye go to Earth today and ye couldn't even tell that anything every happened. Another century or two here and ye'll get the same thing."  
They watched Minkat District fade behind the curvature of the planet.  
"We were environmentalists," Craigan said suddenly, "Did Anselia ever tell you that?"  
"Whot?"  
"Before the war," Craigain explained, "She didn't have a clue…was astonished when I told her. It was one of the reasons why the men were fighting so hard to get into government in the first place. Our civilization was exploiting our planet. Our cities were eating up usable farmland, our sky was getting increasingly cluttered with space junk and our colonies were going right down the same path."  
(…extremists or not, what was their motive?)  
He forced the voice out of his head and looked out again, this time seeing a section of J'Taeri District that had been flattened by an artificially-induced earthquake.  
"If this is what the war came to, my side lost long before the women invented their mind-control tech," Craigan said sadly.  
"We're coming up on the Qu'Eh fleet," T'Parief called from the co-pilot station.  
Jeffery clapped Craigan on the shoulder, then went back to his workstation.  
"Bring us in from the spinward side," he suggested, "That's where they've got the Senousian and Matrian ships they've captured. We're probably less likely to be detected there."  
Using the thrusters as sparingly as possible, Yanick began to slowly manoeuvre them closer and closer to the enemy fleet.  
"I've found Silverado," T'Parief reported, "254 mark 1,"  
"Ah see her!" Jeffery said, sounding exited, "Look at that!"  
He put an image of the ship on one of the display screens.  
"Wow," Yanick said, "I didn't know I'd be so happy to see her in one piece!"  
"And it looks like the crew's been busy," Jeffery added. The nacelles were still dark and the navigational deflector was lifeless. But there was very little damage visible on the outside of the big ship. There were black streaks on the engineering hull from Qu'Eh weapons fire, but they'd been shooting to disable, not to destroy. Most of the ship was dark, but as they moved in closer Jeffery had noticed that many of the windows on the upper surface of the saucer were lit.  
"Good," Jeffery said, "They've restored partial power,"  
"That improves the chances that our plan will be successful," T'Parief said, pleased.  
"You have a plan?" Craigan asked.  
"We always have a plan," T'Parief said confidently.  
"That's a lie," Yanick chuckled, "But in this case, they really do have a plan."  
There was a hiss-rattle from T'Parief's throat as his tail twitched.  
"Bring us between the nacelles," Jeffery said, "And set 'er down right on top of the port nacelle pylon,"  
"I will get the EVA suits," T'Parief said, rising from his seat.

T'Parief and the HT shuffled carefully along Silverado's outer hull, their magnetic boots keeping them from flying off into space. Jeffery had stayed with the runabout, running a length of conduit between the runabout and the nearly-dead starship. T'Parief didn't know the exact details of what Jeffery had planned, only that it would be helpful later on.  
Around them, the Qu'Eh fleet silently orbited Matria Prime, apparently oblivious to the rescue team. T'Parief immediately spotted Chairman P'tarek's flagship orbiting a few kilometers from Silverado. That ship would be their next stop, assuming they could successfully free the Silverado crew still aboard her.  
Finally, they came around the edge of the saucer to the Deck 12 airlock. Marsden was ready to attach a small power generator, but a few taps on the control panel revealed that the airlock had either been repaired or had been unaffected by Jall's sabotage.  
The airlock might have been working, but as soon as the doors opened the HT quickly found that repair efforts were still underway on Deck 12. The lights were on, but the gravity was off and a quick scan showed a stale atmosphere. Moving carefully, weapons ready, T'Parief led the HT into a Jefferies tube that would take them up a few decks.  
"Phase three," Stern reminded the troops, popping off his helmet the instant they'd found breathable atmosphere, "After successfully infiltrating the ship, we will proceed to Sickbay, where Dr. Wowryk believes we will find what we need to remove the Qu'Eh implants,"  
No sooner had they arrived on Deck 6 did they encounter their first Silverado crew member. It was Lieutenant Pye.  
"OH GOD, I STUBBED MY TOE!" Pye screamed, spinning away from them.  
"What the…" Simmons wondered, "Thanks for the warm UMPH!"  
Dar'ugal had slapped a hand over Simmons' mouth. Pye was hopping on one foot (Deck 6 had gravity, at least). One hand was behind his back, making frantic slashing gestures towards the HT. The other was pointing insistently at what was unmistakably a Qu'Eh implant.  
"YES!" Pye shouted, apparently to the empty air, "I stubbed my toe! It frickin' HURT! No, that's just one of the repair teams behind me, don't get your knickers in a twist!"  
The supervisor at the other end of his implant link apparently wasn't pleased with that.  
"Look, YOUR quality guidelines are supposed to prevent injury to employees, so if I've broken my toe, it's gonna reflect on YOUR redesign quality review! Yeah, I thought that would shut you up!"  
Pye wandered off, still hopping and cursing.  
"What have they done to him?" Rengs wondered softly.  
"We'll undo it," T'Parief shrugged, "Sickbay is right around the corner."

"What is this stuff we're looking for, anyway?" Simmons asked as Stern and Marsden rummaged around the storage drawers in one of the med-labs. Sickbay was one of the most heavily-shielded parts of the ship and much of its equipment had been designed to operate independently. The wall-mounted display panels and computer terminals were dead, but the lights had been repaired and the portable equipment had been unscathed by Jall's little reactor overload.  
"I'm not sure," Stern said, moving through a small door and into a storage locker, "Wowryk said they're for removing Borg implants, so they should make quick work of the Qu'Eh garbage. But we've never had an assimilated crewman, so she couldn't quite remember where they got stashed,"  
"If they had this stuff up here, why didn't she just free them all before?" Rengs wondered.  
"One of her, removing implants while surrounded by Qu'Eh ships, constantly monitored and with nowhere to run?" Stern shook his head, "They didn't even have access to Sickbay when she left. Besides, it wasn't until she had the chance to examine a couple of implanted Matrians on the surface that she even figured out that this stuff would work,"  
"Convenient," Simmons muttered.  
"Here we are," T'Parief said, removing an instrument that looked like a cross between a glove and a collection of garden tools. He slipped the device over one hand and watched as the various bladed attachments came to life, as though searching for a Borg implant to excise.  
"I've underestimated the medical profession," he grumbled softly, imagining the bladed tips carving metallic implants right out of living flesh.  
Marsden turned very, very pale.  
"Oy, what are you boys doing…hey! It's you guys!"  
The HT spun, weapons snapping up at the unexpected voice. They found themselves facing a short, stocky man, either human or one of the multitude of races that looked basically human.  
"Who're you?" Stern demanded.  
"That's Crewman Goresrope," Simmons said, dropping the business end of his weapon.  
"Never heard of him," T'Parief said suspiciously.  
"The Rough-House Leg-Humper," Stern relaxed, referring to a string of…incidents…in Silverado's crew lounge.  
"Hey, so I get a bit friendly when I'm smashered," Goresrope shrugged, "Look, Pye told me there was a stray repair team down here, and I'm supposed to set them straight. Do you know where they went?"  
"No idea," Simmons quipped.  
"I think he means us, idiot," Stern snapped.  
"Here is the plan," T'Parief explained, "Our allies in the Matrian Rebellion are, at this very moment, seizing control of a transporter complex in Raleesh. The city is abandoned, and so Qu'Eh reaction time will be slow. On our signal, Mr. Jeffery will deploy some sort of surprise that will-"  
"What kind of surprise? Is it cake?" Goresrope demanded.  
"SHUT UP!" T'Parief roared, "It will prevent the Qu'Eh from tracking the transporter beams. We will use this device," he shoved the pointy glove-from-hell into Goresrope's face, sending the man flinching back against the wall, "to remove the implants from your officers, who will beam down last. We will then proceed to the Qu'Eh flagship and rescue Commander Jall, as much as I would prefer to leave him there to be tortured and executed. Any questions?"  
Goresrope just trembled as one of the bladed tips whirred closer and closer to his face.  
"Pull the pointy thing out of his face," Stern whispered in T'Parief's ear.  
"Oh, right," T'Parief eased the medical device away from Goresrope's left eye.  
"A-a-a-and what do we do once we're on the planet?" Goresrope stammered.  
"You will hide in the underground cavern beneath Raleesh," T'Parief replied, "The Qu'Eh will undoubtedly look there for you, but we have a number of small stealth ships moving into position to transport you to safety. Spread the word, we need everybody in the shuttlebay in 15 minutes."  
"Except the officers," Stern said, "Anybody who's been implanted should be in the guest quarters down the hall,"  
"OK,"

"Bring the warp core online," Jeffery ordered, exiting the runabout airlock and moving into the cockpit.  
"The Qu'Eh might pick up on that," Yanick said, massaging her stomach.  
Jeffery stared for a moment.  
"Ah now it's not my business," he said, "But are ye…bigger?"  
"You're right, it's NOT YOUR BUSINESS!" Yanick snapped, hitting a panel,  
"And warp core online, bastard!"  
Craigan sat very quietly at his station, not wanting to bring any angry attention to himself.  
"Good," Jeffery swallowed, returning to his panel and shunting the warp plasma into the conduit he'd just finished splicing into one of the emergency plasma vents to Silverado's port nacelle.  
"Jeffery to T'Parief," he said, using an extremely low-powered channel, "Ready to deploy surprise in 10 minutes,"  
"Acknowledged," T'Parief's voice came back filled with static.  
"Surprise?" Yanick asked.  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "for this part of the plan to work, we need some radiation,"  
Outside the window, the nacelle grill was starting to glow with the faintest hint of blue.  
"Is this safe?"  
"Oh aye, unless yer pregnant or breast fee-" Jeffery had to duck to avoid a well-aimed tricorder that was suddenly flying towards his head, "Ah mean, aye! It's safe!"

"RADIATION ALERT! RADIATION ALERT!" droned the voice of the Qu'Eh supervisor over implants and regular comm-links throughout Silverado's saucer, "All employees return to main shuttlebay until decontamination is complete!"  
Worried but reasonably well trained, the weary, worn out crewmembers on the ship dropped their tools, spare parts or whatever and started walking, floating or pulling themselves hand-over hand out of their repair areas and back towards the Deck 3 shuttlebay.

"I don't know what's causing the leak!" Lieutenant Pye said, trying to pacify Supervisor Blon, "Look, we're picking up a radiation alarm from one of the nacelles, which have been dormant ever since we lost our warp core in that first attack!"  
"This is sure to set your repair schedule back ever further!" Blon accused, sounding almost on the verge of tears, "Do you know what's going to happen if you fall any further behind?"  
"Can't be worse than what we're dealing with now," Pye sighed.  
"OH YES IT CAN!" Blon cried, "They'll send the Supervisors in to work with you, ON SITE! I don't want that any more than YOU do!"  
"Sir," Crewman Emna had jogged up to Pye, "We need all the officers in the guest quarters up the corridor. We have a…an issue."  
"Perfect," Blon groaned over the implant link.  
Pye, unlike Blon, knew damned well what was waiting for him down the corridor. He'd recognized Stern and T'Parief instantly when he'd seen them, even if Blon hadn't gotten more than a blurry, half-second shot of them through his implant camera.  
"We'd better get over there," he said.

"Clear," Simmons said softly, hiding behind a support strut outside the shuttlebay, "That's all officers accounted for. There should be no Qu'Eh implants in the shuttlebay."  
"Let's go," Stern said.  
They strode into the shuttlebay, much to the shock of everybody there. Simmons and Stern immediately un-slung transporter enhancers from their backs and started setting them up while T'Parief marched directly to the center of the huge room.  
"Ladies and gentleman," T'Parief roared, tail swishing in what could only be pure satisfaction, "Consider yourselves rescued!"

Down the corridor, Marsden and Rengs watched Pye and Bith vanish into guest quarters. Each had a standard-issue Starfleet Medical Borg Implant Removal Device strapped over one hand. (The devices were officially referred to as SM-BIRDs, though anybody who had used one had immediately started referring to them as S&M-BIRDs.)  
"Rengs to Jeffery," Rengs said softly, "Deploy surprise,"  
Jeffery, on a comm-link open to the entire HT, replied immediately.  
"Deploying surprise," he replied.

On the runabout, Jeffery hit the control to send the runabout to maximum warp. The small warp core jumped into overdrive, pumping out carefully tuned drive plasma, with the expectation that said plasma would be coursing into the runabouts nacelles and sending the ship speeding through space.  
What actually happened was that the plasma surged through Jeffery's spliced connections and into Silverado's dead port nacelle. Without computer control to work the plasma injectors or other equipment, the plasma just spurted into the warp coils before dissipating through the nacelle grills and flooding into the surrounding space, resulting in one hell of a subspace and radiological mess.  
On the runabout display, sensor feeds disappeared into jumbles of meaningless data. Jeffery winced as, outside his window, he could see the high-energy plasma already eating away at the closest sections of Silverado's hull.  
"I don't know how I ever thought you people were Matrians," Craigan said softly, watching the psychedelic light show going on outside the runabout, "Our people just wouldn't do this sort of thing,"  
(…except that they did…and worse…) the voice whispered.  
Even without sensors Jeffery could see the Qu'Eh fighters coming their way to investigate whatever was going in Silverado's area. He switched the comm-channel to high power, now that the gig was up, and made sure the broadcast would reach their rebel friends in Raleesh transporter central.  
"Surprise deployed," he said.

In the shuttlebay, the first group of crewman positioned between the transporter enhancers vanished in Matrian transporter beams.  
In the guest quarters down the hall, Supervisor Blon was cut-off mid rant.  
"UNAUTHORIZED RADIATION DUMP!" she was screaming, "Communications interference! Sensor quality degradation of over 92%! And…hey…is that a transporter beam?"  
The doors hissed open, revealing Marsden and Rengs. They jumped at Rengs and Bith, pressing the devices against the Qu'Eh implants clamped onto their ears.  
Pye and Bith both screamed bloody murder as tiny laser scalpels opened their skin and severed the implants connections. The bladed attachments clamped onto the implants themselves and eased them away as two tiny dermal regenerators repaired the damage.  
"Ooops, I guess these things don't come with anaesthesia," Rengs gulped, standing next to a very disoriented Pye, the bloodstained implant gripped in his mechanical medical claw-thing.  
"We don't care, just get these off!" snapped Lieutenant Day, baring one ear.  
"What's going on?" Blon demanded, her voice full of static, "…lost visuals…signals indicate no vitals from employees…and Bith…"  
Two more screams, two more implants removed.  
"Get to the shuttlebay!" Rengs shouted.  
Day followed Bith and Pye out the door. They ran quickly down the corridor and into the shuttlebay. More than half the crew was gone, another group was vanishing in a shower of transporter sparkles.  
"It's about time!" Pye snapped, "We've been up here for over a month! Close to two? I don't know, we've lost track, but way too long!"  
"We thought the fleet would be here by now," T'Parief said, "But recent events have…changed our plans,"  
"We've filled in your crewmembers," Stern cut in, "you'll be met in Raleesh by Matrian rebels. They'll hide you there until you can be evacuated to the bunker,"  
"You'll like it," Simmons quipped, "There's a train and everything!"  
Pye stared.  
"He's easily amused," Stern explained.  
"What about Jall?" Pye asked.  
"Our next stop,"  
There was a shimmer of Starfleet transporter sparks as Jeffery, Craigan and Yanick appeared in the bay.  
"Small problem," Jeffery gulped, right before the ship shook, knocking them to the deck.  
"Qu'Eh?" T'Parief demanded.  
"Yup," Jeffery nodded, "That jolt there? That was the runabout being disabled by a Qu'Eh disruptor,"  
"Disabled or destroyed?"  
"Well, goin' with their pattern so far, probably disabled," Jeffery said, "Otherwise the explosion from its warp core would have destroyed half this ship. Don't worry, we wiped all the flight logs. And I grabbed this on the way out,"  
He help up the sensor-reflective shield generator he'd cobbled together.  
"The Qu'Eh love stealing ships," Pye said, just before he vanished in a transporter beam.  
"And how are we supposed to rescue Jall without the runabout?" T'Parief demanded.  
The last group of crewmembers had just vanished, leaving them alone in the shuttlebay.  
"Well," Jeffery said, "either we wait around here to be captured, or we take advantage of the fact that I passed the coordinates to P'tarek's flagship to our rebel friends on the planet.  
"So, we step into those transport enhancers, and they beam us right over?" Simmons asked.  
"Aye. Ye still up fer rescuing the annoying git?"  
T'Parief thought about it for a moment.  
"I am having too much fun to stop now," he said.  
They stepped into the enhancer field and vanished.

End

Next: With all but one crewmember safe and sound, things are looking up for the Silverado crew. But as T'Parief, Yanick and the HT infiltrate the Qu'Eh flagship, Stafford and Anseila are about to find out that the Qu'Eh are starting to get more than a bit tired of their antics. Coming up next with Silverado 1.10: Extraction.


	10. Extraction

Star Traks: Silverado

5.10 – Extraction

Matrian Installation 317b, AKA 'Haven':

"Medical team to the hanger!" chanted the voice of Ensign Frat Naketh, "Captain Stafford to the hanger! Agent Jural to the hanger!"  
"This is Dr. Wowryk," Wowryk replied, tapping the Matrian comm-badge she'd taken from one of the facility's storage cabinets, "What's happening?"  
"We've got a Senousian scout inbound," Frat reported, "They've got wounded!"  
Agent Jural looked up from the old-fashioned map of Matronus he and Wowryk had been studying.  
"That must be the Starfleet refugees," he said.  
"More than that, it's a chance for me to do the job I actually signed up for," Wowryk snapped. She jumped to her feet. "Let's get to the tram!"  
She charged towards the propped-open door, then stopped.  
"Where on Earth did I put my med-kit?"

Stafford, Jural and Wowryk burst into Haven's only above-ground hanger just as the Senousian scout was coming in for a landing. The ship was obviously damaged, with smoking scorch marks streaking the port side. The port engine had clearly been hit and had been reduced to a smoking ruin. Underneath, her belly anti-grav units were making a sound similar to a very, very unhappy housecat.  
The pilot was clearly having trouble controlling the ship. In the hanger control room, Frat was frantically pulling at a tangle of wires protruding from the wall, searching for the connection that would move the landing platforms out of the way. He'd evidently found it, as the two mobile landing platforms on that side of the hanger abruptly slid upwards, nearly sandwiching a trio of Matrian fighters between them.  
"Clear the main deck!" Frat cried, "They're having-"  
There was an ear-splitting squeal as sparks flew from the damaged antigrav unit. The Senousian ship dropped like a stone, smashing into the hanger floor and skidding across the deck. Some of Haven's safety systems must have been functioning in spite of the lockdown, as a repulsor beam abruptly shot out of the far wall, slowing the ship before it could strike a solid series of support struts.  
The hatch popped open. Wowryk and Nurse Kerry were immediately there, eager to help out any wounded. Lieutenant Pye was the first one out the door. Seeing Stafford, he moved immediately his way.  
"Lieutenant," Stafford grinned, "It's good to see you! I'm so glad you're safely back!"  
"Thanks, sir," Pye said, "Everybody got off Silverado, except the HT. They went in to rescue Jall. But may I say, nice bit of waiting on the rescue!"  
"Um...there were…issues here, too," Stafford said.  
"There's gonna be more!" Pye said seriously, "We stirred up the hornet's nest out there!" he tossed a thumb in the general direction of 'out there', "The Qu'Eh have scrambled all their attack fighters; they're combing the planet! All the other ships you sent to Raleesh, y'know, the ones that came to get us, have gone to ground until things calm down a bit,"  
"Good idea," Stafford nodded, "We can't risk leading them here!" He looked over at the damaged ship, "You didn't lead them here, did you?"  
"No, we bumped into a Qu'Eh fighter over the ocean. We shot them down, then came the rest of the way here at low altitude, random course changes,"  
"Good call,"  
"But you need to shut everything down!" Pye insisted, "The Qu'Eh are gonna be scanning the planet like mad!"  
"We haven't really figured out how to turn anything on," Stafford shrugged, but he tapped his comm-badge. "Stafford to Valtaic, spread the word: Shut everything down cold. The Qu'Eh are throwing a fit,"  
"We haven't figured out how to turn much on," Valtaic pointed out, "Unless you count the replicators and the heating grill in the Matrian restaurant."  
"Just do it," Stafford closed the channel. He looked at Pye. The guy looked like crap; he had shadows under his eyes, his face was haggard, his hair unkempt and it looked like he'd lost a few kilos eating Qu'Eh rations.  
"We'll get you guys setup with quarters," Stafford said, "We've got Starfleet personnel setup in one of the island towers. Jeffery even got the turbo-lift working before he left. Too bad he can't figure out the one in the Command Tower,"  
"Which your officer just shut down anyway," Jural pointed out helpfully.  
Stafford started, as though he'd forgotten the Matrian was even there.  
"Right,"  
Pye moved off towards a group of waiting Silverado crewmen. Stafford and Jural watched as Wowryk and Kerry carefully unloaded one of the Matrian soldiers from the damaged scout. His arm had been caught in the discharge from a damaged console and was scorched and smoking, much like the scout. Wowryk, having applied painkillers before moving the patient, had started disinfecting the arm. Kerry was gathering burn spray and a wrapping, the whole while talking on her comm-badge to the temporary infirmary they'd setup in a nearby cargo bay. (The equipment they'd brought down from Silverado was limited, but was far better than nothing.) Behind them, Craigan was holding his head and wobbling slightly as he made his way out of the ship.  
"So," Wowryk was saying, "Even though you're only injured and it's highly unlikely that you'll die, this is still an excellent opportunity for you to grow closer to your Lord and Creator. I'd be more than happy to provide you a copy of an excellent Earth book, the Christian Bible,"  
Stafford smiled contentedly.  
"It's good to see her back in her old job," he said, "Instead of plotting a rebellion,"  
"It's a side of her I haven't seen," Jural said curiously, watching as she finished the temporary dressing on the first patient and moved on to the second, this one a Starfleet crewman with a dislocated shoulder.  
"OK, Crewman," she said firmly, "I need you to made me angry,"  
The man looked blankly at her.  
"Trust me," she said.  
"Um…you Sickbay posters aren't funny?" he said.  
"They're not supposed to be," Wowryk crosser her arms, "Try again!"  
"Uhhh…I believe that Jesus had brothers and sisters?"  
"Closer," Wowryk said, her lips tightening, "But I need to be really, really mad,"  
"Uh…you've got great tits, and I'd just love to reach out and-"  
With a growl, Wowryk grabbed the man, slammed him against the scout and strategically slammed her entire weight against one particular spot. There was a pop and a brief screech of pain as the crewman's shoulder popped neatly back into place.  
"Excellent," Wowryk said, brushing her hands together, "And who's next?"  
"I haven't seen her in such a good mood in weeks!" Stafford grinned.  
"Me neither," Jural marvelled.  
"Waitaminute," Stafford's grin vanished, "PYE! You said everybody got off Silverado, right?"  
"Right," Pye said, just on his way out of the hanger.  
"Which ship is Yanick on?"  
"Ummmm…"

Raleesh Transporter Central, two hours prior:

A Matrian technician was running her hands over the blue and yellow controls on the master transporter panel of Raleesh's primary transporter terminal. An empty city, Raleesh had been abandoned by the Matrians after their re-awakening. The Council of Governors had wanted to consolidate their population temporarily until some of the kinks were worked out of their new civilization, and had planned to re-populate Raleesh within the next 5 years. Of course, that was before the Qu'Eh invasion.  
In any event, the empty city had been largely ignored by the Qu'Eh, making it perfect for the rescue team's needs. Even as the author embarked on this long and largely pointless round of exposition, Silverado crewmen were materializing on three of the many transporter stages that surrounded the master panel.  
"Those are the last crewmembers off the ship," Lieutenant Kennurdy said, checking his crewman-count, "Nobody left but-"  
The operator, getting another set of signals from the transporter enhancers setup in Silverado's shuttlebay, activated the beams again.  
"The rescue team," Kennurdy finished as the Hazardous Team, plus Yanick, Jeffery and T'Parief, materialized on one of the empty stages.  
"Turn this baby right around!" Stern called pleasantly, "one trip to the Soulless Bastard Express, please!"  
"Wait!" T'Parief said firmly. He turned to Yanick, "Return to the installation. You will be safer there,"  
Yanick put her hands on her hips and made a face.  
"Oh, what, you think I need to be protected?" she said, "I'm still a Starfleet officer-type person! I'm going with you guys!"  
"Uh, and we're still going to need a good pilot for our daring escape," Simmons tried to point out. T'Parief's tail whipped out, slapping Simmons across his forearm and drawing a yelp of pain.  
That done, he still had to admit that he had no reason for wanting her to return to Haven other than that he wanted her tucked safely away, where nothing could happen to her. Of course, even he knew better than to say that!  
"You're always so concerned about the mission?" Yanick was asking, "Well, maybe if I show you that I can be woman of action sometimes too, you'll stop treating me like a piece of fragile china!"  
T'Parief was about to deliver a retort when the realization suddenly hit: That was exactly the kind of attitude he wanted in a mate. That daring, that stubbornness, that need to go out and do something useful. Sure, he hated Jall, and saw this rescue mission as something that had to be done 'just because'. But to Yanick, Jall was a close, special friend. And what was more honourable than risking your life to save a shipmate?  
"If any Qu'Eh so much as lay a finger on you, I will paint the walls with his blood," he purred.  
"Yuck," Rengs, Simmons and Marsden muttered.  
Kreklor, on the other hand, had started making notes on his tricorder.  
"I will have to remember to use that line if I'm ever going into battle with my mate," the Klingon muttered to himself.

Qu'Eh flagship, orbiting Matria Prime:

There was a shimmer of multicoloured transporter sparks as the rescue team materialized aboard the Qu'Eh flagship.  
"AAAATTTAAAACCCCKKKKK!" Stern screamed, firing his phaser rifle. The other team members let loose their own war cries and weapons barrages. One beam bounced off a reflective surface, striking Marsden and sending the hostage negotiator/computer expert tumbling to the floor.  
"STOP SHOOTING!" T'Parief roared, "THERE IS NOBODY HERE!"  
Stern released the trigger of his phaser rifle, then looked around the room. They'd materialized in an empty dining hall. Some sort of brown, brackish-smelling drink was now spilling out of a ruptured drink dispenser and several walls now bore small discolorations from stun blasts.  
"Jeez, now everybody's going to know we're here," Yanick said. Her hands were clamped over her ears, her hand phaser pointed straight up at the ceiling.  
"Trish, FIRE!" T'Parief snapped.  
By reflex, Yanick squeezed the trigger, sending a beam of deadly energy straight up, and into a sensor node directly above her. The node sparked, disabled. She gave a little yelp, slamming her eyes shut.  
Yanick slowly opened one eye, then looked up. She opened the other, shook herself out and lowered her hands from her ears.  
"See?" she giggled, "I'm already useful!"  
"Let's keep moving," Stern suggested, "They may have security on the way already!"  
"Did anybody to think to ask the Qu'Eh where they keep their brigs?" Simmons asked.  
"According to Wowryk, they were held somewhere on the upper decks," Rengs said, tapping at his tricorder, "But our plan is just to look for Trill life-signs." The tricorder beeped. "And there they are. 8 levels up, forward section."  
"Let's go!"

"Mr. Jall, so good to see you," a simpering Qu'Eh underling gushed, "We've been looking forward to having you on our team for weeks now! I'm Associate Clart"  
"Goody," Jall muttered.  
Over the course of the day he'd been forced to fill out reams of forms, mostly legal-type stuff disavowing the Qu'Eh of any responsibility for injuries he might sustain over the course of his torture. This had not exactly pleased him.  
"I'm not signing that," he'd flatly refused after reading a document that informed him that he may, over the course of his 'persuasive professional development session', be exposed to heat and/or open flame and that the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority was not responsible for any burns, blisters or similar heat-related injuries.  
"Mr. Jall, this is a standard document," Supervisor Neum had said patiently, "Everybody who goes through these tort…um…professional development sessions signs them.  
"But if I'm exposed to heat and get burnt, it WILL be your fault!" Jall had snapped.  
"Oh my, no," Neum had shaken her head.  
"And how do you figure that?"  
"If you'd done your job, this wouldn't be happening," Neum had said, "Therefore, this is all your fault,"  
"It's my fault that the Qu'Eh might burn, cut," he'd started shuffling through the forms, "drown, electrocute, exsanguinate, dehydrate, or see me devoured by wild frozzits?"  
"Precisely," Neum had nodded.  
"I refuse to sign it," he'd repeated firmly. Neum had gestured to the guard, who'd immediately pointed the business end of his weapon to Jall's temple.  
"Is that thing even real?" he'd demanded.  
The guard had eased the weapon to the right, fired a shot against the wall, then returned to pressing it against Jall's temple.  
"This'll never hold up in a court of law," he'd grumbled, signing the document.  
Now, finally, he was being led into what was presumable the room where, depending on the Qu'Eh, he'd either suffer horribly or die.  
"I have all the usual documentation for this employee," Neum said to the other Qu'Eh, handing over a very heavy briefcase, "He's very stubborn,"  
"Thank you, Supervisor," Clart said, "You're quality assessment for this case will no doubt be positive,"  
"Ohh, you charmer!' Neum giggled, her hands fluttering for a moment.  
"Now, Mr…" Clart checked his clipboard, despite having already said Jall's name, "Jall. We have something special planned for you!"  
"Well, my mommy always said I was a special boy," Jall quipped.  
"Normally, an employee that caused such a delay in his persuasive development processing would never have been tolerated," Clart went on, "But in your case, it gave us just the time we needed to perfect a little something we've been working on. And thanks to a very recent…development, there's no time to lose!"  
He turned and walked briskly through a door off to one side of the torture reception/processing area. Jall's guards suggested he follow, mainly by prodding him in the kidneys with their weapons.  
They passed three different 'work areas', each one disturbingly similar to the main treatment area in a standard Starfleet sickbay. Each had a bio-bed in the center with an array of electronic devices arrayed above them and several carts of equipment nearby. Unlike a Starfleet sickbay, these beds were tilted at about 45 degrees and the devices and equipment didn't exactly resemble medical equipment. All three areas were empty, luckily.  
The fourth area held a single Matrian female, but it was the fifth that had drawn Jall's attention. It held a collection of unrecognizable Qu'Eh technology, most of it looking very jury-rigged. Cabled and conduits branched between components in a fashion that strongly resembled the results of Jall's one and only attempt to learn knitting. What disturbed him however was that there appeared to be several pieces of Matrian technology added in to the mix, technology that looked like it had been damaged.  
"Where is Queen Anselia hiding?" a Qu'Eh interrogator demanded, leaning over the Matrian prisoner.  
"I don't know," the woman said firmly.  
"What does the word 'Haven' mean to you?" the interrogator demanded.  
"Nothing. I think it might be a kind of ice cream the Starfleeters eat."  
The interrogator looked over to Clart, who nodded. He adjusted a couple of controls on a makeshift panel next to the prisoner, then slipped some kind of emitter device over her head. The conglomeration of equipment in the next bay began to pulse and hum.  
"Where is Queen Anselia hiding?" the interrogator demanded again.  
"I…I…I…" the Matrian's eyes had grown wide, but didn't appear to be looking at anything. Her body was relaxing, her mouth trembled slightly.  
"Tell me," the interrogator said insistently, "Obey me. I am your master, it is your place to serve,"  
"My place…"  
"Stop it!" Jall demanded.  
"Why?" Clart asked, "The Matrians used this technology against their own people for almost a century. Is two minutes really that unbearable?"  
"You found a Matrian Spatial-Interphase-Device," Jall realized. He looked over at the humming contraption, "Or at least pieces of one,"  
"It's sort of a work in progress," Clart admitted while the interrogator continued asking insistent questions, "And there are a lot of side effects the Matrian versions never caused that we haven't quite figured out. Nausea, vomiting or nosebleeds most of the time. But we've driving at least one prisoner quite mad, and killed another. I'm afraid that's going to hurt my quality score,"  
"You're a monster," Jall said coldly.  
"Of course I am," Clart looked surprised, "Why wouldn't I be? That's what they pay me for!"  
"What is Haven?" the interrogator demanded again.  
"Don't…know…" the prisoner's voice was growing more and more listless.  
"That's enough," Clart said suddenly, "She knows nothing. This one," he nodded at Jall, "Will be able to tell us more,"  
"What makes you say that?" Jall asked, wondering just why it was always him getting strapped down to the torture table, "You already tricked me into giving you info on the Federation fleet, what else can I tell you?"  
"You can tell us the current location of Dr. Wowryk," Clart replied immediately.  
"Uh, how would I know that? I just fired her out in an escape pod,"  
"We were closing in on her, thanks to information we managed to obtain from Matrian prisoners," Clart explained, "Then she called for extraction to a place called 'Haven' and promptly vanished."  
Uh-oh.  
"We're quite sure that wherever Haven is, Queen Anselia, King Hektor and Minister Stafford are likely there as well,"  
This could be bad.  
"And we're certain you know where it is," Clart finished.

Site Director Laurette, current leader of the Matrian Outsourced Component of the Qu'Eh Corporate Assessment Authority had known something was up the moment two of P'tarek's lackeys had marched into her office in the Matrian government building and insisted that her presence was 'requested' aboard P'tarek's flagship. She'd been beamed up rather then sent by shuttle, which struck her as odd. P'tarek and the other Qu'Eh had seemed to greatly prefer the use of shuttles, probably because it made for a more dramatic arrival complete with greeting parties. Or maybe because they gave opportunities to survey their destination prior to arrival. Hell, she didn't know. But the fact that P'tarek had had her beamed up to his ship was unusual. She'd been led through a series of bland corridors until she came to P'tarek's horribly decorated office. P'tarek was speaking to somebody over subspace when she arrived.  
"Completely thrilled that you've agreed, Shareholder," P'tarek was saying, "Yes, I suspected once you saw the Matrian fertility figures that the Board would agree…ahh, and here is Site Director Laurette now!"  
Laurette turned, noticing a large viewscreen set into one of the strangely angled walls. An older Qu'Eh was seated behind a transparent desk, his implant not only larger than normal but also connected to a heavy wall socket by an honest-to-God cable.  
"Site Director Laurette, finest quality!" the man said, "I'm Shareholder Thoms. Chairman P'tarek was telling me just the other day that the spass-fish population in the Matronus River appears to have stabilized?"  
A few weeks ago Laurette would have been confused and annoyed by the seemingly random change in subject, but a mandatory 'Friendly Banter' workshop had taught her that it was Qu'Eh culture to exchange random pleasantries.  
"Yes, Shareholder," Laurette said politely, "And the Chairman was just saying yesterday that the rains are due in his home region this week,"  
"Hmm, her FB isn't the best, but I am impressed," Thoms said to P'tarek, "I've certainly seen worse from the newly employed. In any event, Site Director, it gives me great pleasure to pass along some good news!"  
"You're all leaving and letting us run our own civilization?" Laurette asked dryly.  
"Don't be absurd," Thoms shook his head, reaching for a beverage, "No, the Board has approved the allocation of additional resources to the Matrian Sector!"  
"Additional…resources?" Laurette's mouth went dry.  
"Yes. In fact, a fleet of 3 new cruisers and their escorts will be arriving at Matria Prime within hours, and another 40,000 troops will be arriving within the next few days."  
"More ships…today?"  
"Well, the ships were approved several days ago and sent along. The troops were approved yesterday, after we received word that your people had been rated above average in fertility! This indicates a higher likelihood that the Matrian people will be long-term active employees in the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority!"  
"That's…great," Laurette said, unenthusiastically.  
"Now, you and the Chairman can go down to your quaint little council and announce the news. But there is one little drawback. The Chairman will explain, as I have a meeting. But it was a pleasure meeting you. Finest quality to you both."  
"Finest quality," P'tarek said, bowing slightly towards the screen as the image faded.  
"A drawback?" Laurette demanded.  
"There was an incident less than an hour ago," P'tarek said, his pleasant demeanour gone, "The rebels have gone too far, and I'm afraid we're going to have to punish your people because of it,"  
"What happened," Laurette demanded.  
"Nothing you need to worry about," P'tarek snapped, "But now we're going to destroy Raleesh."  
Laurette was thrown off-guard.  
"What? Why? It's empty, there's nothing there!"  
"There's an entire city, along with all the tools and technologies one might expect," P'tarek said, "Frankly, it was erroneous of us to ignore it as long as we did. Believe me, the Vice-President that made that decision will be suffering horribly during his next performance review!"  
"What happened?" Laurette demanded again.  
"A group of rebels used Raleesh as a base during an…operation," P'tarek said, his mouth tight, "Normally, this would be no more disturbing than any other rebel activity. But in this case, it's clear that we cannot allow them access to the city, and guarding an empty city is just a waste of our resources. So it will be a…demonstration…instead."  
"You can't just inform me that you're going to destroy an entire city, and then refuse to tell me why!" Laurette snapped.  
"But I will. Now come, let's go have a little chat with your council, then we can go blow up a city! Won't that be fun?"

"Quiet, people," Stern said softly, watching his tricorder as a squad of Qu'Eh security guards moved quickly through the corridor next to their maintenance tube, "Search team,"  
The Qu'Eh were clearly aware that somebody had boarded their ship, as there were security teams combing the ship. But there had been no alarms, no flashing lights and no outward sign that anything was amiss. It had confused Stern for a moment, until he remembered that the Qu'Eh were corporate-types, and the last thing any corporation would do was admit that anything was wrong.  
SQUIIRRRGGGLLLEEE!  
"Urp!" Yanick put a hand to her mouth, "Excuse me!"  
"Ah warned ye people to eat before we left the runabout!" Jeffery hissed.  
"I don't think it was my stomach," Yanick said. He cheer had faded a little; she was starting to look worried as she massaged her abdomen.  
"Can you hold out?" Stern asked.  
Yanick nodded. T'Parief let out a hiss-rattle.  
Rengs was tapping again at his tricorder while Simmons slapped lightly at Marsden's face, trying to revive the man from the stun-blast he'd taken.  
"Jall's stopped moving," Rengs said, "Two more levels up." He frowned.  
"What?" T'Parief demanded.  
"Well, there's only two other non Qu-Eh life signs," he said, "Oops, make that one. The other just beamed off the ship,"  
"So?"  
"Wowryk said that when they were captured, they had hundreds of prisoners aboard," Stern cut in, "You don't think they killed them all, do you?"  
"They were probably sent to repair their ships, as our people were," T'Parief said quietly, "It is of no concern,"  
"Ohhh, but it is!" Simmons said, fondling one of the plasma grenades on his belt, "It means that after we grab Jall, we can leave this little present in a strategic spot…say, right next to their warp core?"  
T'Parief's eyes widened like a kid on Christmas morning.  
"Here is what we will do," he said, gesturing for them to gather 'round.

Jall was starting to feel strange.  
"What is Haven?" the interrogator demanded.  
"What's your name, anyway?" Jall asked, ignoring the question.  
"I am Interviewer Staie," the Matrian replied.  
"Pleasure to meet you," Jall replied.  
"Why, thank you."  
"I was actually just lying to be polite," Jall added.  
Staie tapped a button, sending a jolt of electricity through Jall's left leg.  
"Where is Dr. Wowryk?"  
"Not sure, but wherever she is, she's probably at church," Jall said.  
"Where would Queen Anselia be hiding?"  
"Don't know, haven't seen her in over a month," Jall replied immediately, "By the way, she's got a great ass, don't you think?"  
"Where is Minister Stafford hiding?"  
"Probably between Queen Anselia's legs," Jall quipped pleasantly.  
Staie looked over to Clart, who nodded. Staie tapped a couple of commands into the panel next to the bed, then slowly turned a knob. The device, which until then had barely been humming, started to pulse.  
Jall remembered his previous exposures to M-SIDs the way he remembered strange or particularly interesting dreams; it was fairly patchy. But what he remembered clearly was that, according to all reports, the Silverado crew had successfully disabled the personality-altering functions of the M-SID they'd used to infiltrate the Matrian Dreamland. How much those functions had affected them during their first exposure to one of the devices, a good four years ago, still wasn't clear. But what was clear was that he, San Jall, had never been exposed to the full mind-twisting power of the device.  
His body started to ease as a feeling of intense relaxation came over him. He knew intellectually that this was the device preparing his brain to exchange signals with a highly complex cortical induction field, and that in addition to altering personalities the M-SIDs served as links to the vast artificial reality the Matrian females had ruled for a century. Of course, this wasn't an M-SID he was hooked up to; it was a cobbled together Qu'Eh device that was supposed to make him more…agreeable to them. There was no artificial reality, no cortical induction field, and a good chance that this much brain-tampering was just going to make him soil himself.  
"I hate it when people fool around with technology they don't understand," Jall said dreamily.  
"You want to tell us about Haven," Staie said, ignoring the comment, "What is it? Where is it? It really is something we should know about."  
What was Haven anyway, Jall wondered. He'd never heard the name before, not in connection with the Matrians. But whatever it was, the Matrians were pretty sure that Stafford and Anselia were there. And he knew perfectly well where they were: the underground Matrian installation under the desert."  
"Why would they name it Haven?" Jall murmured aloud, "That's a stupid name!"  
Staie and Clart exchange ecstatic looks.  
"He DOES know!" Clart exclaimed, "Ohhh, my quality score is going to go through the roof!"  
"Why would they name it Haven?" Staie repeated back to Jall, a voice recorder at hand.  
Jall's mind was swimming. He couldn't tell them where Haven was…he couldn't tell them where Haven was…he couldn't tell them where Haven was. But that's not what the Qu'Eh, who really wasn't a bad sort after all was he, was asking.  
"They're hiding there," Jall said, "It was a haven for the Matrian government, and for most of our crew."  
"Where is it?"  
Jall shook his head.  
"What is it?"  
"We don't know," he replied dreamily, "Military installation? Bunker? Long-term shelter? But it's hundreds of years old…the Matrians had no idea it was even there!"  
"That's why none of the rebels knew about it!" Clart said excitedly.  
"We've got to notify the Chairman!" Staie said.  
Clart looked at his chrono.  
"He's down on the planet, addressing the government," he shook his head, "But get a sensor feed in here! If we can pinpoint this bunker, we'll have sufficient justification for a type-1 dramatic interruption!"  
"Tell us more about this bunker," Staie insisted, adjusting the dial again.

"By the Prophets," Rengs muttered, tapping his tricorder angrily.  
"What?"  
"Some kind of…energy readings," Rengs said, "Right from Jall's location. Nothing I've see before!"  
"Let me see," Jeffery insisted. He looked at the tricorder screen. "Uh-oh,"  
"What?" T'Parief insisted.  
"Look," he turned the tricorder so the reptile could see it.  
"And that means what?" T'Parief said, his voice carrying a hint of danger.  
"It's a lot like the field put out by those Matrian dream-machine thingies,"  
"We encountered those before you joined the crew," Stern said to Rengs.  
"But we knew the Qu'Eh were searching for one," Marsden added, still woozy from the stun blast, "We saw them in the cavern under Matronus,"  
"Looks like they had some luck after all," Jeffery said.  
"We should probably blow that up too then, right?" Simmons asked.  
"Yes, yes we definitely should. And quickly, who knows what Jall might be telling them!"

"Evendra Desert," Clart was muttering, tapping at a sensor panel one of his subordinates had brought in, "I can't find anything there, just the abandoned ruin of a city and a lot of wasteland!"  
"Energy…readings…" Jall's head was starting to loll, "that's how we found…."  
Clart shook his head, "There's nothing there! The topography is just flat sand for thousands of square kilometres!"  
"Where specifically did you find this bunker?" Staie demanded.  
"Ruins…city…"  
"In the ruins, or near them?"  
"I still can't find anything!" Clart exclaimed, starting to sound a tad hysterical.  
Staie reached for the adjustment knob again.  
"And don't touch that! If his brains melt, he won't be able to tell us anything!"

"I'm positive the tricorder said there was supposed to be a left turn here," Rengs muttered angrily, contemplating the maintenance shaft dead-end he found himself facing.  
"I keep telling you people," Stern said, "Tricorders can't do everything! "  
"How far are we from Jall, anyway?" Marsden asked.  
"50 meters."  
"Close enough to hear the screams," Simmons said helpfully. The rest of the HT ignored him, but T'Parief started listening very, very carefully. Unfortunately (for him, anyway) Jall apparently wasn't being interrogated with scream-invoking methods.  
"Two more groups of life-signs," Rengs said, "Qu'Eh security is closing in on us!"  
"Simmons, time to do your thing," Stern ordered, gesturing for the rest of them to move back.  
"Heeheeheeheeheehee!" Simmons giggled, rummaging around in his pack for an explosive charge, "Hmmm…Sandy, or Susan? Definitely Susan!"  
"He names his bombs?" Yanick whispered to T'Parief.  
"Names, converses with and occasionally dresses up," T'Parief muttered back, "He is very…passionate…about his work."  
"HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!" Simmons giggles were bordering on hysterics as he quickly yet lovingly set the detonator control and sprinted back around the nearest corner. He gave Stern a look that could only be described as 'eager puppy'. Smiling and shaking his head, Stern gave him the go-ahead.  
"GOOOD SAVE OOUR GRAAACIOUS QUEEN!" Simmons sang out at the top of his lungs, then slammed his hand down on the detonator.  
KA-BLAAAM!  
The entire section of the shaft seemed to jump as the dead-end became an open passageway. Jeffery was looking at Simmons with a look of complete and utter confusion. He turned to T'Parief.  
"We don't know why he sings that, either," T'Parief said before Jeffery could even ask.

"Nothing, nothing, NOTHING!" Clart was now frantic, "I'm scanning all around these ruins! All I can find is sand, sand and more sand!"  
"Is Haven north of the city, or south?" Staie asked Jall, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing, "If I wanted to walk there, on a clear, sunny day, how would I know the way?"  
"Muuugggnnnnn…." Jall slurred.  
"Turn it off!" Thoms said, "We need his mind intact!"  
Staie was about to turn the dial down when could have sworn he hear…singing? Suddenly the entire jurry-rigged mind-control contraption exploded outward from the wall, showering Jall and the two Qu'Eh with debris.  
"Atta girl, Betty!" a human in Matrian fatigues shouted, jumping through the hole and firing his phaser in all directions.  
"I thought that one was Sandy!" another human shouted.  
"Nope, I'm saving Sandy for the big finish!"  
"Three explosions in one day," a third human said, this one with a thick accent, "No wonder ye never let him out to play!"  
"He's kinda hard to clean up after," the second human admitted.  
Staie and Clart took one look at the invaders, then turned to run. Rengs and Stern gunned them down with stun blasts before they'd even taken two steps. Marsden was at Jall's side immediately, cutting through the restraint straps and helping the groggy officer to his feet. Dar'ugal rushed over to the unconscious Matrian prisoner and did the same.  
"He's pretty out of it," Marsden reported, "Whatever they were doing, it's messed him up a bit!"  
"Well, he's not oozing entrails or anything, so I assume we can move him?" Stern asked. Jeffery made a face, while T'Parief just licked his lips. Yanick smacked him upside the head.  
"Ah can't contact Raleesh Transporter Central," Jeffery reported, fiddling with his comm-badge.  
"Doesn't matter," Rengs said, glancing at his tricorder, "The Qu'Eh have their shields up anyway. But I'm pretty sure there's a shuttlebay 8 decks down from here!"  
"Let's go!"  
They'd made it down two decks before the ambush hit. One moment they were sneaking down another maintenance shaft, the next there were Qu'Eh to the front and to the rear. Dar'ugal dropped the Matrian woman and ducked behind a support, firing stun blasts into the enemy security team. Kreklor and Rengs took the rear positions, sending enough shots towards the Qu'Eh team to keep them from advancing.  
"Stern," T'Parief shouted, "Our priority is now escape. Lethal response is authorized,"  
"'bout f**king time," Stern muttered, "Simmons! Got any Scuttling Sally's in there?"  
"Is a Klingon crawling with parasites?" Simmons asked, reaching into his satchel. Keklor, without missing a beat in his covering fire, jammed the butt of his phaser rifle into Simmons' ribs, just hard enough to hurt.  
"I think you'll like this one," Stern shouted to Jeffery over the din of weapons fire, "A little something Simmons and Keklor worked out!"  
"Aye?"  
Simmons had dropped what looked like a plasma grenade, right on the floor where the rescue team was taking cover.  
"BUGGER!" Jeffery squeaked, positive he was about to be blown to smithereens. Instead, the grenade appeared to sprout six long, slender legs. It took off towards the front Qu'Eh team at high speed, giving off strange electronic chirps and it dodged from side to side.  
"OOOOHHHH SAY CAAN YOU SEEEEEE!" Simmons belted out, just before the grenade exploded, sending Qu'Eh bits showing all over the tunnel.  
Stern picked up the Matrian woman, Dar'ugal slung Jall over one shoulder and they quickly sprinted down the tunnel.  
"That's disgusting," Yanick remarked as they passed the charred remains of the Qu'Eh.  
Her stomach twisted again, gurgling and sending another throng of nausea through her. Her uniform tunic, already two sizes bigger than she normally wore, was getting tight again. Whatever was going on there, it was getting worse. And quickly. And it couldn't be happening at a worse time.

T'Parief was in full attack mode. The Hazardous Team was now two decks above the supposed shuttlebay, and they'd had to dispatch three more Qu'Eh security teams. There were still no alarms sounding, no alert lights flashing, and no outward indication that anything was at all the matter on the Qu'Eh ship.  
They'd been chased out of the maintenance tubes at some point, and were now racing down the main corridor of the ship, crashing over plastic plants and squinting in the bright white lighting. Up ahead, Stern had forced open a door labelled 'Data Tabulation, then abruptly stopped.  
"I think we found the recreation deck," he said, his jaw dropping.  
They crowded through the door, finding themselves on a sort of promenade overlooking a wide, open space that seemed to be 1/3 restaurant and 2/3 casino. In every aisle, near every table and parked next to every exit were carts loaded with padds. Hundreds, even thousands of the tablet-like devices were being picked up, dropped off and even distributed. Down on the main floor off to their left, a Qu'Eh couple was dining while they looked over several padds, laughing lightly as they did so. In the casino, patrons were frantically copying data from the padds into central computer consoles, then apparently winning or loosing based on the results.  
"Those padds…Rengs trailed off.  
"It's the damned quality surveys they've been forcing everybody to fill out!" Stern cried. "Look, those two! They're reading over the Transit Quality reports from Matronus!"  
"And the gaming tables!" Rengs pointed, "They've got the Quality of Sex results for most of the planet! That guy just won 40,000…somethings…betting that the average rating would be between 3.45 and 3.47!"  
"This is what the Qu'Eh do in their spare time?"Simmons asked incredulously, "No wonder they're so uptight!"  
"This location is too public," T'Parief declared flatly, not seeming particularly interested, "However, it can be used to our advantage,"  
"Let's wreck up the place?" Stern asked hopefully.  
"Exactly."  
With one smooth motion they reversed their phasers and slammed the butts into the glass panel separating the promenade from the gaming and dining floor. Unfortunately, the panel must not have been glass after all, as the phasers simply struck with a solid THUNK. Nobody on the floor even seemed to notice.  
"Well, that's a little embarrassing," Stern shrugged.  
"Simmons?" T'Parief gestured towards the panel.  
"We're just going to take the stairs," Yanick spoke up, one hand on her stomach. She, Dar'ugal and Kreklor, now carrying the Matrian and Jall, opened the glass door leading to a neat stairway.  
"Spoil-sports!" Stern called after her.  
"OHHH, FLOWER OF SCOTTLAAAAND!"  
KA-BLAM!

The second the explosion and the shower of transparent fragments had cleared, T'Parief, Stern, Rengs, Simmons and Marsden were leaping through the empty window and down to the main floor. Off-duty Qu'Eh were now screaming and running around frantically, though most were taking the time to grab as many completed Quality forms as they could on their way out. Stern fired at one of the gambling machines, sending it up in smoke as a whole stack of Quality of Death and/or Maiming forms slid to the floor.  
"If Ah didn't know better," Jeffery shouted over the din to T'Parief, "Ah'd say ye buggers are enjoying this!"  
"This is just weeks of pent-up frustration being purged," T'Parief admitted.  
"T'PARIEF!" Kreklor was shouting, "TO ME!"  
T'Parief spun immediately towards the Klingon. At first, he didn't understand why he was being called, there didn't seem to be any immediate threat. Then he saw Yanick crumpled on the deck. He was at her side in an instant.  
"She passed out," Kreklor reported, "I suppose we will have to carry her,"  
"It's time to go," T'Parief said firmly, gingerly picking Yanick up and noticing the abnormal (and considerably larger) swelling in her abdomen.  
"STERN!" he shouted, "TO THE SHUTTLEBAY!"  
"AWWWW!" Stern shouted back, "Can't we blow up one more-"  
"NOW!"

Up in the interrogation section, Clart slowly regained consciousness. His head was pounding and he felt like he'd been beaten with a full-scale audit. The Starfleet officer was gone, the attacking humans and assorted aliens were gone, their carefully constructed Matrian/Qu'Eh hybrid Dream Machine was a smoking ruin and…  
And the sensor panel was beeping.  
Looking at the display, Clart saw that at some point in the past half hour, the sensors had picked up a small energy fluctuation. Nothing serious, in fact it could have been interference from the planets ionosphere or from weather on the surface. Odds are, if the sensors hadn't been directed at the exact same region for such an extended period, it would have gone completely unnoticed. As it was, Clart wasn't in the most optimistic of moods and almost ignored the tiny fluctuation.  
Then he noticed that the position of the energy reading happened to correspond to a very large mound, almost a mountain of sand about 50km from the ruins at the desert's edge.  
Not only was that sand mound huge, easily huge enough to cover a secret Matrian installation, it was also close to being perfectly round. Suspiciously so.  
"I found it!" he muttered.

They crossed the final two decks quickly. Between the explosions in the maintenance tube, the chaos in their recreation level and the fact that the corporate-type Qu'Eh just weren't on the same level as a half-crazed Starfleet assault team, resistance on the ship had trickled down to a minimum. They surged through a heavy double door and into a two-level hanger. Nearly half a dozen greenish Qu'Eh runabouts were parked on the deck, one of which had its hatch gaping open.  
"This will work for now," T'Parief said, trying not to hit Yanick's head against the hatch on the way in, "We can rendezvous with the rebels on the planet and get transport back to Haven."  
"Sounds good," Jeffery agreed.  
Yanick was stirring, her eyes fluttering open.  
"What the…"  
"Ye fainted," Jeffery said helpfully.  
"Can anybody read Qu'Eh?" Rengs was calling from the cockpit, "This is all gibberish to me!"  
"I should be piloting," Yanick grumbled.  
"Not in your condition," T'Parief said flatly.  
"About that, by the way?" Jeffery inquired.  
"I don't know!" Yanick said, sounding very scared, "The doctor said it would pass in a while, but it keeps getting worse! I don't know what's happening!"  
"We've got to get her to Noel," Jeffery said.  
"Yes, we do." T'Parief agreed.  
The runabout jolted, moving in the general direction of the egress doors but spinning on an axis.  
"No, THIS one goes here, THAT one goes there!" somebody snapped from the cockpit.  
"I've got the transporter figured out!" Simmons called, "Permission to leave our parting gift?"  
"Quickly!" Stern called back from the cockpit, "Before we pass out of their shield perimeter!"  
Simmons gave his last plasma grenade a loving stroke as he placed it on the transporter pad and pulled the pin.  
"Express trip right to the Qu'Eh warp core!" he said happily. He took a deep breath. "OHHHHH CAAAAANADAAAAA!"

Matria Prime, Council Chamber:

"The floor recognizes Chairman P'tarek of the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority," the replacement Speaker of the Matrian Council of Governors said blandly, with little enthusiasm. Most of the Matrian councillors had fled when the Qu'Eh had invaded, leaving a group of deputies and hastily elected replacements to reform the council. Of course, since this council was little more than a puppet government under the Qu'Eh, the people didn't pay a great deal of attention to it anyway.  
Chairman P'tarek, complete with a flowing cape and his medallion of office (depicting an ancient call-center headset) strode out onto the speaking floor of the chamber. The twin thrones reserved for the King and Queen of Matria had been removed and replaced with two pillars crowned with the symbol of the Qu'Eh. Mistress Laurette was seated front and center, facing the podium and surrounded by her cabinet. Laurette, along with the rest of the Matrians were completely unaware of the chaos currently breaking out aboard P'tarek's ship, and P'tarek had no intention of doing anything other than pretending that it was 'business as usual'.  
"People of Matria Prime," he said loudly, "We the Qu'Eh came to you with a dream: A dream of productivity, efficiency, and above all, quality. We have stretched out the hand of employment to you, offering job security and a voice in the company!"  
"Is this guy for real?" one of Laurette's ministers muttered, "They conquered and enslaved us!"  
"It's called 'PR'," Laurette muttered back, furious. How could P'tarek possibly expect to pass himself off as a concerned benefactor when all of Matria knew his race was using them all to further their own agenda?  
"Yet despite our kind offers and our hard work, you've seen fit to aid those that would slap away the hand we've outstretched in kindness, that would spit upon the face of those who have come to your aid and to discard the valued stock options we have offered your people. Just hours ago, Matrian rebels operated out of the city of Raleesh in an attack against the Qu'Eh. An attack that, I might add, was unprovoked and unsuccessful."  
He nodded at one of his aids.  
"Behold, your corrective action measures," P'tarek said.  
The screen behind him came to life, showing an aerial view of Raleesh. A Qu'Eh disrupter flashed across the screen, striking an apartment building and vaporizing a good sized chunk. Two more blasts flew down from orbit, destroying a small commercial building and taking another chuck out of the apartment building. This time, the building sighed, then collapsed into a pile of rubble.  
P'tarek's flagship continued firing, demolishing buildings, incinerating parks and leaving blackened craters in the streets.  
P'tarek's aid suddenly sat straight up in his seat.  
"Chairman," he said aloud, "Emergency transmission from the flagship!"  
P'tarek's eyes flashed. If this was about the rebels running around his ship, heads would roll! Class-1 Dramatic Interruptions were only to be used in the event of startling and vital information. The death of a few rebels or Starfleeters was neither. And he was quite confident they would indeed be dead soon. Worst case scenario, they'd just open a few decks to space and asphyxiate the annoyance.  
"Mr. Chairman! Finest quality!" This is Associate Clart with Information Extraction,"  
P'tarek's annoyance vanished. This could be good, very good.  
"Finest quality, Associate," P'tarek replied, "What do you have to report."  
"We've found Haven, Mr. Chairman! It's located at-"  
The signal abruptly cut out.  
P'tarek spun towards his aide.  
"Get him BACK!" he snapped.  
"Chairman, I can't contact the flagship!" the aide said frantically.  
P'tarek looked up at the screen, just in time to see it switch from a view of the smoking city to an orbital view of an explosion. An explosion in the middle of the Qu'Eh fleet. In fact, P'tarek was very sure that the explosion was centered exactly where his flagship used to be.  
P'tarek's jaw worked for several moments, then he spun and walked out of the chamber.  
"P'tarek to all ships," he spoke angrily, the moment he was able, "Open fire. I want that city obliterated."

"WHAAA-HOOOO!" Simmons cried from the transporter padd as the Qu'Eh runabout rocked, tossing them around as the shockwave from the exploding ship struck them, making their tiny vessel thrum like a struck gong.  
"Engines out!" Rengs called from the cockpit, "Sensors are down! I'm losing control!"  
In the window, Matria Prime was growing larger and larger as the ship hurtled towards the planet. In mere moments, they'd be hitting the atmosphere.  
"Use thrusters! Get us under control!" Jeffery shouted.  
"Sure, the moment somebody figures out what 'manoeuvring thrusters' looks like when it's written in Qu'Eh!" Rengs shouted back.  
"Everbody better brace themselves," Stern shouted as the runabout reached the outer layers of the Matrian atmosphere, "This one's gonna be bumpy!"

End

Next: The rescue team find themselves stranded on a desert island, with only Simmons for entertainment. But what they find there doesn't leave much time for idle fun. Although it does allow some. Intrigued yet? Then you're probably also wondering what happens when Fifebee and Sylvia find themselves digging a little deeper than they planned into the mysteries of Haven…coming up next!


	11. Under-Current

Star Traks: Silverado

5.11 – Under Current

Craigan stepped out of the elevator and into the hollow, three-level pod that was Haven's control center. Queen Anselia, King Hektor, Minister Stafford, Mistress Laheya, Agent Jural and a few Starfleet officers Craigan didn't know were already there.  
"We've stopped using the replicators, the laundry facilities, the cooking facilities and anything else that wasn't active when we found the installation," a cool voice spoke.  
"Including you, Fifebee, from the looks of it," Stafford said.  
"Yes," Fifebee replied, "My holo-relay puts out a distinct energy signature. It had to be shut down,"  
"Which is why you're in the computer?" Anselia blinked.  
"I am always in the computer," Fifebee sniffed.  
"She's quite the roommate," another voice spoke up as Craigan mounted the first set of stairs. Looking down through the lower windows, he could see a few lights in one of the towers they'd found connected to the command tower.  
"We've also cut our network traffic to almost nothing," said one of the other officers, "We are receiving only the same sensor feed as when we first found the facility,"  
"So the Qu'Eh aren't likely to find us," Stafford finished. As Craigan began climbing towards the third level, the group of people came into view. Stafford was gesturing at the glowing hologram of Matria Prime. Small dots were moving slowly across the surface of the globe, "But they're sure looking,"  
"Nothing from the rescue team?" King Hektor asked.  
"Naw, the HT only boarded P'tarek's ship a little while ago," Stafford replied, "When they're done, I'm sure we'll know it,"  
You will know when the time is right.  
Craigan shook his head. That voice again. It had popped up during the mission to retrieve the captured Silverado crewmen. Was that only earlier today? That didn't seem possible!  
"Craigan," Anselia said warmly, "We are pleased you came back, instead of joining the assault on P'tarek's ship,"  
"Your Highness," he bowed slightly.  
The Starfleet officers returned to their own business. Craigan made aimless small-talk with the Queen for a while, telling her about the school he'd gone to as a child. Ansleia had been bombarding him with questions ever since he'd agreed to help the Rebellion, but he still couldn't quite believe how ignorant she was of their own culture…and she was the leader!  
I'm afraid, Craigan. I'm afraid this place will be the last trace of our civilization.  
Craigan started. That was one of the most coherent things this 'voice' had said to him. It couldn't be a coincidence that he'd started hearing voices shortly after being revived in Haven. His memories of his old life were a bit clouded; working for a Male Rebellion cell, pushing propaganda out, trying to further their cause. Trying to counter the lies and foolishness of the female-led government. But he was pretty sure that he'd never heard voices before.  
"Craigan?"  
Craigan started again. Queen Anselia was staring at him, concerned.  
"Are you well? We could have a doctor examine you. Or even Dr. Wowryk. I understand she has started to return her attentions to medicine,"  
"No, I'm…I'm OK,"  
"She's coming up anyway," Stafford butted in, "She needs to talk to Laheya about…something. I think it involves a Qu'Eh comm center,"  
Stafford pulled Anselia aside.  
"About that," he said, "Your rebellion is running, your people are fighting back, and the fleet's gotta be getting closer. Are you sure you still need her involved?"  
"We would prefer to keep her involved," Anselia shook her head, "If not as a symbol for gender cooperation, then as a symbol of the commitment and firmness of resolve of your people,"  
"OK, fine," Stafford muttered.  
At that moment, Dr. Wowryk climbed the steps into the command deck.  
"Anything I should know about?" she asked coolly.  
"Just…keep up the good work," Stafford said weakly.  
"Fine," Wowryk replied, "Laheya, Jural…you both know I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to help you and the rebellion. However, my skills as a doctor are needed as well. Should you need me, I can be found in-"  
"Captain, we have a problem," Valtaic said sharply.  
Everybody's attention was suddenly riveted on the dark-skinned alien.  
"Have they spotted us?"  
"No," he said, "But the Qu'Eh have opened fire on one of the Matrian cities."  
"WHAT?" The word was like an expletive, coming from all directions.  
On the holo-globe, small points of light were moving from one of the Qu'Eh ship icons to a spot on the planet.  
"I'm getting something on one of the news networks," Fifebee said from the computer core, "I am routing it to display screen 2,"  
On one of the Federation display screens connected to the core, the image of P'tarek standing in the Matrian council chamber appeared.  
"Behold," the image of P'tarek said, "Your corrective action measures!"  
The screen behind him showed images of a city being fired upon from orbit.  
"That's Raleesh," Layeha said, letting out a breath of relief, "It's deserted,"  
"But they are still destroying one of OUR cities!" Anselia seethed, furious.  
"And they will pay," Layheya vowed, "Rebels! Let's go plan some counter-strikes!"  
"We've found Haven, Mr. Chairman!"  
Everybody's attention snapped right back to the screen.  
"Dear God," Stafford cursed. Wowryk smacked him.  
But the voice was cut-off before it could report the location. On the holo-globe, one of the ships faded out.  
There was silence in the command complex for about three seconds, then chaos. Anselia and Hektor were shouting insistent questions at Stafford, who was shouting at Valtiac, who was calmly stating that he knew nothing. Laheya was cheering, slapping Jural hard enough on the back to knock the smaller man over. Wowryk was crossing herself and Craigan's eyes were transfixed by the screen.  
The image of the burning city was gone from the screen. But it still burned in his mind.  
They finally did it. They finally went too far.  
Craigan shook his head. That voice! It was almost maddeningly familiar. And the city…something about the burning city.  
Reconciliation, Craigan.  
Craigan blacked out.

"That has to have been the Hazardous Team," Stafford said for about the tenth time.  
"Considering that starships rarely just explode for no reason, I'm inclined to agree with you," Wowryk said, also for about the tenth time, "What I don't agree with is you insistence on repeating yourself."  
"Right, sorry,"  
They were in a small infirmary, located not far from the fitness center in the levels above the Transit Hub. Most of the equipment was either offline or unidentifiable, but Wowryk and a couple of Matrian doctors had setup shop anyway. Craigan was lying on a non-functional bio-bed while a portable unit monitored his vitals.  
Wowryk tried not to be annoyed that Stafford was hanging around, basically getting in her way. Anselia and Hektor had left to brief the other government members, while Laheya and Jural were preparing coded messages that would start rebel attacks on several Qu'Eh positions. Valtaic, Fifebee and Sylvia were monitoring the Qu'Eh situation and trying to track down some flesh & blood members of the crew to help out. At first, she'd thought he was just bored. Then she caught him looking at her with a grin on his face. For a fraction of a second she thought that maybe he'd joined the legion of lustful men eager for a chance to get in her knickers…then she remembered that he was already in a sinful, carnal relationship with Anselai. That's when the truth hit home.  
He was just happy to have her back. And for some reason, that was really pissing her off.  
"Would you go to that crate and get the neuro-scanner, please?" she asked, just to give him something to do and, hopefully, get him out of her hair for a moment.  
"Sure thing," Stafford rummaged around for a moment. He came back with an odd contraption with a glowing emitter tip.  
"This thing?"  
"No that's the defibr-"  
BZZZTTT!  
Stafford cursed as the thing shocked his arm badly enough that he slammed it into the side of the crate.  
"That shouldn't be turned on," Wowryk mused. She was tapping her medical tricorder as the ran it over Craigan. The interference fields in Haven were still causing problems, and her readings were intermittent.  
"This?" Stafford asked, holding up a complicated-looking collection of tubes and claws.  
"No, that's for Klingon vasectomies,"  
Stafford paled.  
"And you thought to bring one of those along, but not one of the Borg extractor-thingies that Stern was able to use to get rid of the Qu'Eh headsets?"  
"I didn't pack the medical supplies, I was sort of busy." Wowryk said crisply, "Helping to run a battle. At YOUR insistence,"  
"Right," Stafford rummaged around again. This time, he came up with the helmet-shaped device. He handed it to Wowryk.  
"About that, Noel," he said, hesitating a little, "Are you…angry with me?"  
"Angry? Because you pushed me into the first officer slot and into battle? Or because I was captured by the Qu'Eh because of it?"  
Stafford gulped.  
"Or perhaps because instead of healing and aiding, I'm spending most of this mission plotting, scheming, and setting into motions plans that result in the deaths of Qu'Eh soldiers as well as Matrian rebels."  
"Yeah," Stafford said quietly, "All that,"  
Wowryk considered for a moment.  
"Yes," she said, her voice shaking slightly with anger. This wasn't the ordinary, short but explosive bouts of anger Stafford was used to seeing from her. This was something else. Something harsher, something that didn't promise to fade in an hour or so, "Yes, I'm angry with you."  
"Noel, it was for the-"  
"Don't talk to me about the mission!" she snapped, "I understand the mission, I'm not incompetent! I've learned more about strategy and planning in the past month that I ever learned at the Academy! I know perfectly well why you did what you did, even why Jall did what he did!"  
"Then why-"  
"You introduced me to power," she cut him off again. She fastened the neuro-scanner over Craigan's head, "Power of life and death over the Matrian ships that were following my orders. And then over Matrian rebels, who are ready to die for their planet on my command." She shook her head, "That's a power that people should never have,"  
"Senior officers have it all the time," Stafford said carefully.  
"I don't want to be a starship captain, or an Admiral," Wowryk said, "I'm a doctor. My job is to heal."  
"As soon as this is over, you can!"  
"Do you think it's easy to just step away from that kind of power, Captain?" she asked, putting extra stress on the rank, "Do you think I can just decide to leave that all behind?"  
Stafford looked around the dimly lit infirmary.  
"It looks like you're giving it a good shot," he said finally.  
"And it's horrible," Wowryk shook her head, "It's like…it's like fighting an addition. I want to march straight over to Laheya and Jural and demand an update, to demand that they hear my input before they do anything."  
She sighed.  
"And that's why I'm furious with you right now," she finished quietly.  
"I'll just…go see what's happening," Stafford said lamely. He bumped into Jural as he left.  
"Noel, we need your help deciding whether to focus on Qu'Eh communications or logistics for the next round of attacks," he was saying.  
Wowryk's struggle was worse than an addiction, Stafford realised as he stepped into the dim corridor. At least, when you were fighting an addiction, it rarely came knocking on your door.

It was another day before Craigan regained consciousness.  
The Qu'Eh, after sweeping the planet frantically, had eased back their patrols slightly, though still at a higher level than before. Their ships now operated with shields up at all times, preventing any more unwelcome beam-ins. The rescued Silverado crewmen were trickling into the base, and while the Qu'Eh controlled-news network was silent, reports of rebel activity was still managed to make it's way through the cities, towns and villages of Matria Prime.  
It was Fifebee who was with Craigan when he reawakened. With the reduction in Qu'Eh activity, her holo-relay had been reactivated.  
"We didn't blow up Matronus," he grumbled, shaking his head slowly.  
Fifebee raised an eyebrow.  
"You didn't, your former organization didn't, or-"  
"What did I say?" Craigan blinked, looking confused.  
"You claimed that you did not blow up Matronus," she said, "By which I assume you mean Old Matronus, the orbital habitat which was destroyed over 200 years ago, triggering the Gender Wars,"  
"Right, that," he sat up, "Well, of course I didn't. I always already in stasis when it exploded,"  
"As we have no way of confirming that, I suggest we move on. How are you feeling?"  
Craigan frowned.  
Something happened after you were stunned, Mr. Craigan. I'm afraid it was something horrible.  
"Somebody told me," he muttered.  
"I see," Fifebee said flatly, not sure what else to say.  
"What happened to me?" he asked.  
"You fainted. Dr. Wowryk identified some strange neural activity, but the interference with her equipment prevented her from identifying it." Fifebee cocked her head, her voice very matter-of-fact, "Have you experienced any unusual symptoms in the past day or two?"  
Craigan hesitated.  
"I've been hearing voices." He braced himself. He was still getting used to dealing with the Starfleeters, and with this artificial one especially. He half expected her to look down her nose and make some sort of demeaning comment.  
"That could mean many things," she said instead, "Please pardon me a moment."

Within an hour, Craigan found himself surrounded by Starfleeters. Stafford and Wowryk he already know, but they'd been joined by a third, a blond woman with a rounded yet severe-looking face.  
"I am Conzelor Yvonnokoff," she said crisply, "You may call me Vonna,"  
"C'mon doc," Stafford groaned, "You haven't broadcast a show in at least a month!"  
"Jas, but is easier to pronounce," she said, "I am being helpful to patient, jas?"  
"Jas-ever," Stafford muttered.  
"Look, did I do something wrong?" Craigan asked, looking around at them.  
"No, Mr. Craigan," Stafford shook his head, 'It's just that…well…there are a lot of reasons for people to hear voices. And with the amount of brain-tampering that's gone on around this planet, well…"  
"You don't think I'm just crazy?"  
"That's why we have Yvonno…Vonna here," Stafford replied.  
"So, Mr. Craigan, tell me about your mozer. Did you hate her?"  
"Oh, THIS is going to be productive," Wowryk snapped.

Fifebee, Sylvia and Valtaic met in the main lobby of one of the ornate staircases bordering the outer ring of the Transit Hub. Fifebee was towing her holo-relay with one hand.  
"Ready?" Valtaic inquired politely.  
"We are," Fifebee replied.  
"Exploration time," Sylvia smiled.  
Valtaic took over the relay, and the three of them moved into one of the corridors branching off of the lobby.  
"Exploration teams in the outer rim found some time ago that the facility there extends several levels below the transit system," Valtaic said. He gestured out at one of the short passages that led to the tram platform, "As well, several tram tracks here appear to descend below Hub level. We are certain there are levels below the Hub, but we have yet to find a stairway or lift that would take us there."  
"We've already checked all the doors in this section," Fifebee said, "Unless it's behind those big double doors in the lobby; the ones you can't open,"  
"Very possible. But as we cannot access that area, the point is moot,"  
They pushed open a door that Valtaic had unlocked previously. This time, Fifebee took careful measurements of the room, hoping that once they had a more detailed floor plan, they could identify 'empty' spots that might be hidden passageways.  
After two more doors and two more rooms, Sylvia spoke up.  
"Fifebee, I've still got a few scattered memories of when we were merged," she said.  
"Expected," Fifebee nodded.  
"There were several stasis tubes in the laboratory where we found Craigan, yes?"  
"Yes,"  
"The laboratory in the Command Tower, in the center of the island?"  
"Actually," Fifebee said, "The laboratory was off-set slightly. You see, there is a connecting structure of some kind between the-"  
"And nobody's seen, oh, I don't know...rooms full of stasis pods around the Hub area? Or in the other towers?"  
"We have not," Valtaic confirmed.  
"Then where did they come from?"  
Fifebee accessed her memory.  
"There was an access tube," Fifebee said, "The stasis units likely came through there,"  
"But from where," Valtaic mused, "As Sylvia has reminded us, we have found no stasis facilities in any of the island towers or in the areas surrounding the Transit Hub,"  
"That we have access to," Fifebee pointed out.  
"We could return to the lab and follow the shaft to its source," Valtaic suggested, "It is easily large enough for your relay,"  
"And we could use a rope or hover-boots for your solid form," Fifebee finished, "Indeed. It is an excellent plan. Let us-"  
"Hold on," Sylvia said. She had looked through a small door and into a storage space, possibly a janitor's closet, "Fifebee, do you see anything odd about this room?"  
Fifebee squinted, her behavioural subroutine interpreting the increased focus her program was giving the visual sensors on the holo-relay.  
"Inconclusive," she finally said, "The interference is too great,"  
Valtaic moved forward and put his hands on the wall. There was a flash of energy, and he was flung back, across the corridor and against the far wall.  
"I think we found what we're looking for," he said, matter-of-fact as he picked himself up off the floor,"

"Close eyes, Craigan," Yvonnokoff was saying gently, "Let mind wander. Vhat do you see?"  
"Um…it's black?"  
"In mind! Not vith eyes!"  
"I see…I see….nothing!"  
Yvonnokoff sighed.  
"Valtaic to Stafford,"  
Stafford rose, then moved away from the group.  
"Report,"  
"We have found a hidden passage," Valtaic said, "It was disguised by an energy field, identical to the one that hid the main body of the installation from the entrance hanger when we first arrived here. We are proceeding into the passage,"  
"Be careful," Stafford said, "Report in every 15 minutes. Stafford out."  
Behind him, Wowryk gave out a surprised gasp. Stafford spun to see Craigan slumping in his seat.  
"What happened?"  
"He said 'It takes forever to walk through all these passageways', then passed out," Wowryk said. She was checking his vitals by hand. Only once she was convinced he was stable did she pull out her medical tricorder, bringing it as close to him as she could in an effort to get around the interference field.  
"Strange activity in the hippocampus," she said, "Fading rapidly, probably why I missed it before. It looks like…"  
"Chris, he's been mind-wiped!" she exclaimed.  
"Who vould do zat?" Yvonnokoff asked.  
"Probably whoever hid him here to begin with," Stafford said, "Doc, can you undo it?"  
"Not with the equipment at hand," Wowryk shook her head, "Maybe not even with access to a full medi-lab. The whole point of a mind-wipe is to get rid of information!"  
"It looks like it's bubbling back up to me!"  
Wowryk and Yvonnokoff watched as Craigan started to stir.  
"Maybe enough of it will, as you say, bubble up on its own," Wowryk mused, "But why wipe his mind if he was going to be frozen for centuries?"  
"Maybe Valtaic and Fifebee will find something," Stafford said, "Whoever did this to him is long gone, but if they've left anything behind, I bet it'll be in that hidden area,"

Valtaic led the way down the staircase they'd found. At least, for the first minute he did.  
"Here, sweetie," Sylvia said, pushing past him, "Why don't you let me keep en eye out? That way, if we trigger a booby-trap, you're less likely to be killed."  
Valtaic inclined his head. Despite Sylvia's many, many, MANY social irrelevancies, he had to admit that he approved of the manner in which she often put rational thinking to good use. Perhaps something to do with her being a computer program, which would also explain why he found Fifebee's company more pleasant than that of many of his other crewmates.  
Valtaic frowned. If his two favourite members of the crew were both machines, what did that say about him?  
In any event, now was not the time for such thoughts, he quickly realized. The stairway they were in spiralled downward in a tight arc. The combination of stone, brushed metal and fabric that had been used to pattern the walls in the upper levels had been replaced with metal panelling with inset lighting. Several gleaming components in the ceiling appeared to be observation lenses or sensor arrays, with no effort being made to hide their presence. They'd descended at least five levels by his count before the stairway opened into a metal-panelled, utilitarian corridor. They followed the corridor for a short distance, noting the series of sealed doors and side passages.  
"This appears to be similar to a maintenance passage, only bigger," Fifebee noted. Sylvia had approached a computer panel built into a sort of alcove off the main corridor. She started tapping at the buttons.  
"Access is very limited," she said, surprised, "But it's not completely locked. There are some maintenance logs, some power output reports. Very little. I don't believe it will help us."  
"What do the logs say?"  
Sylvia was about to reply when the terminal abruptly went blank. When it powered back on, it was displaying the same lockout message as the rest of Haven's computers.  
Valtiac's head spun around.  
"Does anybody else here that?"  
"A sort of droning hiss, followed by a series of atonal beeps?" Fifebee inquired, "Yes, however that's due to a minor malfunction in my auditory sub-routine. If you hear the same, you may want to consult Dr-"  
"No, I mean the series of metallic taps, almost like a series of metal feet," Valtaic said calmly.  
"Uh-oh,"  
"And, of course, we only thought to bring one phaser," Sylvia shook her head as Valtaic pulled out his weapon.  
"The place is abandoned!"  
"Not quite!" Fifebee exclaimed.  
Down the corridor, several mechanisms had come into view. They each stood around Valtaic's height, with angular, ovoid bodies. Each moved on six spider-like legs. Their six arms were mounted on a ring-shaped track that circled their upper bodies, allowing them to rotate them around to whichever side required them. Their heads were shaped like capsules, with a pair of glowing red eyes and a vocal grill. Several sheets of thick metal, identical to the paneling on the walls, hung from their sides.  
"Head back to the stairway," Valtaic said firmly.  
One of the robots raised an arm in his direction. It's claw-like hand held a barrel-shaped device. A beam of red energy abruptly shot out, passing directly through Sylvia and narrowly missing the holo-relay.  
"Wielding beam," Sylvia said, "they're construction bots! Probably been here since Haven was built!"  
"But why are they still down here?" Fifebee wondered.  
"Let us debate that later," Valtaic said. He fired at one of the bots, disabling it. In unison, the rest brought around one of their extra arms, grasped pieces of sheet metal from their sides and held them up as makeshift shields.  
They came around the last turn between them and the stairway, only to find three more bots waiting for them.  
"Move the relay behind the bulkhead, NOW!" Valtaic baked.  
The instance they'd done so, he jumped towards the robots. They grabbed at him, each of them locking a steely claw onto the compact officer. Before they could do anything further, he pulsed his energy field as hard as he could. There was a shower of sparks as the robots jerked, calling out with a strange yet plaintive series of beeps and electronic tones before dropped to the floor.  
"Nicely done," Fifebee acknowledged.  
Unfortunately, the robots hadn't just been placed behind them for an ambush. They'd had a slightly different goal in mind: The doors leading to the stairway were now gone, wielded over by a series of metal sheets.  
"They've trapped us!" Sylvia exclaimed.  
"They must have sealed it up as soon as we moved out of sight!" Fifebee said.  
Valtaic thought quickly.  
"Haven was constructed in a repetitive pattern," he said, "There should be another stairway 60 degrees around,"  
"Let's hope we can get there before another group welds that one up!"

Wowryk and Stafford had stepped out into the corridor while Yvonnokoff continued talking to Craigan. Despite her earlier remarks, Wowryk was remaining civil. Stafford wasn't quite sure how to handle that particular situation, so instead he called up Valtaic and asked for a status report.  
"We are being chased by construction robots," Valtaic replied back tersely, "We are attempting to escape via an alternate stairwell. Could we speak of this in more detail at a later date?"  
"Um, sure. Let us know if you need help. Or a security team, or anything like that," Stafford said.  
"It would be foolish to risk trapping more people down here," Valtaic said, "We will attempt an alternate escape. If that fails, please have a team with cutting phasers standing by,"  
"OK. Stafford out,"  
Wowryk raised an eyebrow.  
"What? They're Starfleet officers and they're being chased by robots. Happens all the time!" Stafford said. He frowned. "Actually, it's about time something normal like this happened to us. Good for them!"  
"Why are there robots in Haven," Wowryk asked, "Any why are they behaving aggressively? It doesn't fit with the pattern we've come to expect from this place,"  
"That's what happens when you start poking around in places that were supposed to be hidden," Stafford shook his head, "I wish Sylvia had stayed up here. Maybe she would have had some insight on this whole Craigan thing,"  
Wowryk frowned.  
"Craigan wasn't hidden," she said.  
"Yes he was," Stafford shook his head, "Everything but the entrance hanger was hidden behind one of those holographic walls,"  
"But it's like layers," Wowryk insisted, "The entrance hanger was open to the outside world. Then the next layer, the Transit Hub, the Command Complex, the transit station and Craigan. The next layer is whatever they've found underneath the Transit Hub. And beyond that, you have the computer lockouts. It's the same as the Matrian Rebellion, the way we've structured the leadership. Layers."  
Stafford frowned. She was on to something. And he had to admit, he'd been too busy dealing with Hektor, Anselia and the assorted issues of hiding the Matrian government to really think too much about the motives behind Haven. And yet here comes Wowryk, with just as much on her mind, ready to pick things apart.  
In his defence, sometimes all it takes is a new perspective.  
"You're saying that whoever setup the security here wanted us to find Craigan if we made it into the Command Tower," he said.  
"Yes,"  
"But he's mind-wiped! He can't tell us anything!"  
"Maybe he's not supposed to," Wowryk mused.  
"Huh? What the hell does that mean!"  
"Chris, whoever hid Haven must have had a plan," Wowryk said, "They hid it for a reason, they hid access to certain areas for a reason, they must have left Craigan out for us to find for a reason. We just have to figure out what that reason is,"  
"And hope it doesn't involve a messy, violent death,"  
"I think Valtaic has that covered at the moment," Wowryk said.

By Fifebee's estimation, they'd only managed to get about halfway to their goal when they found themselves confronted by another group of bots. Valtaic pulled out his phaser and immediately started firing.  
"This doesn't look good, sweetie!" Sylvia exclaimed.  
Valtaic ducked as one of the robots exploded. Another shot back with its construction wielder, burning a streak in the metal paneling behind his head.  
"More seem to be coming," he said, "I cannot hold them off! Nor can I get close enough to attempt another energy pulse!"  
"Maybe now would be a good time to take Chris up on his offer of a rescue team," Sylvia suggested.  
"Why don't you get on that," Fifebee said, shoving her holo-relay into a cross-corridor and gesturing for them to follow, "In the meantime, I suggest we run!"  
They ran, following a straight corridor that appeared to lead directly away from the center of the installation. Before long, they were forced to turn into another curved corridor running tangent to prevent the perusing bots from keeping them in their line of fire. Several of the corridor doors hissed open automatically as they passed by, revealing glimpses into offices, labs, storage rooms and more of what they'd found in the upper levels. Of course, since they were being chased by rampaging robots, they really didn't have time to check things out.  
"We should try to find a transit station," Valtaic said, "We cannot get the tram to access the lower tracks,"  
"But maybe a tram from down here can access the upper tracks!" Fifebee finished. She processed information for a moment. "If we continue moving in a circle, we should cross the track eventually!"  
It wasn't the tracks or a transit station they found first. They'd managed to put a bit of distance between themselves and the robots. They continued moving quickly, but Valtaic holstered his phaser and Fifebee pulled out her tricorder.  
"Wait," she said suddenly, her gaze moving to a set of double doors set into the inner wall of the corridor, "Strange readings,"  
"We really don't have time to explore," Valtiac said.  
"Unless our explorations yield an escape route,"  
Valtaic considered. He then stepped towards the doors, which obediently swished open.  
"You will want to see this," he said.  
Fifebee and Sylvia crowded in. The space was easily the size of Silverado's main engineering compartment. A number of display panels adorned the walls, and several fairly standard control panels were visible in different locations. In the center of the room, however, a single Matrian control pulpit faced a large, pulsating crystal column. It almost looked like a collection of giant snowflakes, with bluish, crystalline spikes jutting out in all directions. Energy coursed through the crystals, crackling between the spines and arcing out towards three collection nodes before being challenged into a series of conduits that led into the bulkhead.  
"This is not a useful method of escape," Valtaic said, moving towards what he assumed was an exit in the far wall.  
"But…but…this looks like the source of Haven's interference field!" Fifebee exclaimed, "I need to take measurements! Analyze the crystal growth! Determine why the impact on our equipment isn't greater at the source!"  
"Angry robots on the way, dear," Sylvia said, patting her arm and pulling her away, "We can come back later!"  
"But…but…I want to do science!" Fifebee objected as she was pulled into another corridor.

Craigan wasn't sure whether or not he was supposed to be scared at the moment. He'd been left alone with this strange human woman. Anselia and Hektor were off debating the political ramifications of the destruction of the Qu'Eh flagship, Jural and Laheya were plotting rebel schemes and Wowryk and Stafford had run off after receiving a call for help.  
"Where did Dr. Wowryk go?" he asked, "It sounded urgent,"  
"Oh, some of our people are exploring ze lower levels," Yvonnokoff said, "Found zecret door, I zink. Anyvay, is no concern to us! Ve haff comfy office, you haff comfy couch, and ve are going to have a chat, jas?"  
"The lower levels. You mean underneath the Transit Hub?" he asked. Something about that was bothering him. No, more specifically, it was worrying him.  
"Ze hub, ze towers, ze island. Vhatever. Is not our problem,"  
Don't worry about me, Craigan. It's not your problem,  
He tried latching onto the voice, hoping that it would go on. Something must have shown in his face.  
"You heard voice again, jas?" Yvonnokoff asked.  
"I…yes," Craigan shook his head, "It's like she's speaking right into my ear, only nobody's actually there. Sometimes my whole world starts spinning."  
"Zat is because sometimes you pass out, and fall on floor," Vonna said helpfully, "But ve haff given you medication zat should help. Or cause homicidal episode, ve are still unsure of Matrian bio-chemistry,"  
Craigan sighed. How did he come to this? So much of what he remember was a bit hazy, but he could still recall it. He remembered his position in the Male Rebellion, working to spread the agenda of one of Matria Primes smaller regions. He remembered going up to Old Matronus on a mission to retrieve information from a contact close to the Council of Mistresses , a contact that had vital information on something the Council was planning. He remembered being captured, but after that everything was blank. He only remembered waking up in the Haven laboratory, surrounded by strange people. There'd been no sign of…of…  
Who?  
Reconciliation, Craigan.  
The voice was speaking up more and more often, it seemed. Like a scab that you didn't really notice until you started picking at it. Then it wouldn't go away.  
"Craigan, I vant to help you. It is vhat I do. Vhy don't you chust tell me what you are zinking. I can see it in eyes, you are zinking of zings very carefully,"  
See you in a few years, Craigan.  
"I feel like I was expecting somebody to be there when I woke up," he said slowly, as Vonna jotted notes down on her padd, "Wait, that's not quite right. I was hoping for somebody to be there. But I was afraid I'd find…"  
He trailed off, his eyes widening.  
"Vhat vere you afraid of finding?" Vonna demanded.  
"All of you," Craigan said softly.  
"You expected us?" Yvonnokoff asked sceptically.  
Craigan, it's not always going to be just to two of us. You know that.  
"Yes. No. Not you specifically," he said, massaging his temples, "But I knew somebody was going to find us…me. But it might take a long time,"  
Nobody knows where Installation 317 is anymore, Craigan. I've seen to that. But if our people survive, they may find it again.  
"But why did you hide it?" Craigan grunted, frustrated. He ran his hands through his platinum-blond hair.  
"Hide vhat? My sandvhich? Because vhen you passed out last, you squished my ozer vun,"  
"No! Not you! Her!"  
"Her? Voice in head is female? Interesting!"  
"I wish I could remember what she was telling me!" he said, exasperated.  
Yvonnokoff thought for a moment.  
"I haff suggestion!"

Stafford stood at the bottom of the secret staircase Valtaic, Fifebee and Sylvia had unlocked. The entire janitor's closet had been a hologram. Once deactivated, the stairway was hidden only by a nondescript door. Lieutenant Sage and Lieutenant Day were cutting through the metal panels the construction robots had welded over the door leading into the corridor, while Lieutenant Bith and the Beta-shift security officers waited with weapons drawn.  
"I really wish the Hazardous Team was here right about now," Sage said over the sizzle of the cutting beam, "Any word on them yet?"  
"No," Stafford said, "Orbital sensors picked up a small vessel leaving right before the Qu'Eh flagship blew up. They'll probably show up on our doorstep after they've had a chance to ditch the Qu'Eh hardware and hook up with a rebel cell." At least, he sure hoped they would.  
"Stafford to Valtaic," he tapped his comm-badge, "How's it going?"  
"We have located the source of Haven's interference field, and have located what appears to be a top-secret Laundromat," Valtaic reported, "The pursuing robots appeared to have slowed. Fifebee believes they may be concentrating on guarding the inner areas, and are less concerned the further the intruders are from the core of the facility,"  
"Interesting thought," Stafford mused, just as Sage and Day finished the cut. A two-meter square chunk of plating clattered to the floor.  
Wait a minute…  
"Uh-uh," Stafford muttered.  
At least thirty mechanical bots armed with wielding beams were crammed into the corridor, all of them aiming weapons directly at the newly cut hole.  
"Baaaad timing," Sage groaned.  
Realizing they were standing directly between a heavily armed security team and a small robotic army, Stafford, Sage and Day slowly and carefully moved back up the stairs.

"Craigan, zis is Lieutenant Commander Sevkor," Yvonnokoff said  
"Hello," Craigain said nervously, eyeing Sevkor's pointed ears, bowl-shaped haircut and angled eyebrows.  
Come on Craigan! You mean you've never even left Matria Prime? There's a whole galaxy out there! If only our people would put more effort into exploring it!"  
"Greetings," replied Sevkor, Silverado's resident Vulcan, "Has Counsellor Yvonnokoff explained to you what we are about to attempt?"  
"She said you can melt my mind," Craigan swallowed.  
"Meld," Sevkor corrected, his eyes darting briefly towards Yvonnokoff, "The goal is to retrieve information that you have. You are remembering pieces of it, apparently at random. We will attempt to make sense of the…chaos."  
"Nobody vill force you, Craigan," Yvonnokoff said gently, "Ve're here to help,"  
Craigan was still considering when Stafford burst through the open door.  
"We've got trouble," he said, "Valtaic's team is trapped in the lower levels by a horde of angry construction robots. They're not attacking us, at least they don't seem to be. As long as we don't cross into their territory. But our people can't get up here, and we can't get down there without a lot of shooting. Has anything useful come up?"  
"Reconciliation," Craigan replied at once.  
"What? How's that supposed to help us?" Stafford demanded.  
But Craigan was shaking his head.  
"What did I say?"  
Stafford groaned.  
"Look, Craigan, we're in a sticky situation here!" he said, "What's hidden down there might finally allow us to unlock this place…whatever it is! Even just being able to launch some of the ships we've found in the buried hangers could make a big difference once the fleet arrives! If these blanked memories of yours are tied to Haven, we need them!"  
Craigan had known as soon as he'd met Queen Anselia and King Hektor that he would, once again, be offering his services for what he saw as the good of his people. Helping an alien rummage around in his mind wasn't exactly what he'd expected, but hey. This was a new Matria, after all.  
"Melt me," he said.  
"Meld," Sevkor reminded him patiently.  
"You say hecoppise, I say hecoppize,"  
"I am sure I do not understand,"  
"Just meld, already!" Stafford exclaimed.

"And what do you suppose this thing does?" Sylvia asked, indicating a conduit easily as tall as she was. There was a hissing, whooshy sound coming from it, like something was flowing through at a moderate speed.  
"Water intake from the lake," Fifebee mused, "Not helpful."  
They'd tried climbing up a few levels after finding another staircase, but they'd reached the top of the stairs after climbing only a few levels. Based on her internal tracking, Fifebee believed they were underground, right next to the lakeshore. They were still being harassed by the occasional bot, but they seemed more like patrols or sentries as opposed to hunting parties.  
"Logically, if we cannot find a way out on this upper level, we should try moving down to the lowest level," Fifebee said.  
"Logically, there shouldn't be an army of robots guarding an abandoned base," Valtaic mused.  
"Guarding," Sylvia considered, "That's exactly the way they're acting, isn't it? They're guarding something,"  
"I believe we already expressed that theory," Valtaic said, leading them back to the staircase and moving quickly downward. There looked to be at least 20 levels before the bottom of the shaft.  
"No, you said you thought they were guarding the inner areas of the complex," Sylvia said, "But why?"  
"You frequently concern yourself with the 'why' of a situation," Valtaic observed.  
"There must be something of value there," Fifebee mused, "But robots, at least those of the low intelligence these are displaying, do not value anything,"  
"Unless programmed to," Sylvia said, "So if you were burying a facility the size of Haven, what would you value enough to guard with an undying army?"  
"A central control interface," Fifebee replied at once, "Computer cores. Energy reactors,"  
Valtaic was shaking his head.  
"Perhaps, but we found plenty of control interfaces in the command tower," he said, "We simply lack the authorization to activate them,"  
"We also found thirteen frozen Old Matrians," Sylvia said, "In stasis tubes that came from somewhere else in the facility,"  
"You suggest there may be more," Valtaic said.  
"Wouldn't that be something worth guarding? Especially if some of them know how to activate Haven?"  
They'd almost reached the lowest level.  
"But this doesn't help us," Valtaic said, "Even if we were to locate a stasis storage facility, and even if we were to fight our way in, we still would not have a way to deactivate the bots. Unless one of the frozen Matrians could do so,"  
They exited the stairwell into another utilitarian corridor panelled in silvery metal. There were no doors in sight, yet.  
"I suggest we make our way to the center of the installation, then work our way up from beneath," Valtaic said.  
"Lead the way,"

Craigan was aboard Old Matronus.  
He knew exactly where he was, with a clarity that frightened him just a little. He was in section 23-A, on Level 21. It was exactly 30 minutes past noon and 12 children were walking by. (All girls. There were only girls-only schools aboard Matronus.) In exactly 34 hours and 14 minutes, they'd all be dead. Victims of a computer virus that would detonate the orbital habitat's reactors.  
"Isn't it a shame that our people still can't agree on how to educate our children?" a nondescript male said, nodding towards the group.  
"It is," Craigan said, using the passphrase he'd been given, "But one day there will be a reconciliation,"  
"We can only hope," the man said. He turned to leave, in the process brushing against Craigan and depositing a data chip in his pocket.  
His mission was complete.  
He started moving towards Teleportation Central, where he had a pad booked to beam him down to Matria, where he would pass the chip on to another contact, who would pass it on to another. And so on, until it reached the upper leadership of the Male Rebellion.  
As he walked through one of the broad, brightly-lit corridors, he noticed a news-cast playing on one screen.  
"The District of J'Taeri, in the equatorial region of the Western Continent, announced today it's intention to separate from the Unified Planetary Government of Matria Prime, citing irreconcilable differences between it's own regional government and the Council of Mistresses," the newscaster stated calmly, "Although it was not mentioned specifically in today's announcement, political analysts cite disagreements over the controversial Bill of Male Rights currently being debated by the Council. Raleesh and Bevin Districts have expressed their support over the controversial announcement, while the Council of Mistresses calls it 'blatent disregard for the unity of the Matrian Empire,"  
"Your world has a unique history," Sevkor said. Craigan jumped a little. He didn't remember the Vulcan being aboard Matronus that day, yet here he was.  
"I am merely an image in your mind," Sevkor said, as if reading his thoughts. Which he was, Craigan realized.  
"What do we do now?"  
"Now, we attempt to restore the memories you have lost,"  
"But this is almost it," Craigan said, "I barely get halfway to Teleportation Central before-"  
"STOP!"  
Craigan abruptly found himself surrounded by uniformed female guards. One of them held up a display padd, which clearly showed him receiving the data chip from his contact.  
"Krester Craigan, you're under arrest for conspiracy and high treason against the Council of Mistresses,"  
"But I didn't do anything!" Craigan exclaimed, Sevkor's link into his mind recalling the exact words he'd used.  
One of the guards had started frisking him and pulled the chip from his pocket.  
"The data on this chip is highly classified," the lead guard said, "Possession by an unauthorized person is a serious crime,"  
"And how do you know I'm not authorized?"  
"No male would have sufficient clearance," the guard scoffed.  
"Now, that kind of attitude is exactly what the Male Rebellion is fighting against!" Craigan shouted.  
"Then you confess to being involved in the Rebellion. Take him away,"  
Craigan started struggling. This lasted about 30 seconds before the world went black, leaving Sevkor and Craigan standing in an empty, black space.  
"The next thing I remembered, I was in the lab, surrounded by your officers," Craigan said. Even as he spoke, the scene he described wavered into view. Fifebee, Jeffery and T'Parief were rushing around, trying to calm the dozen confused, unmodified Old Matrian men that had also been released from stasis.  
"Let us try that again," Sevkor said, "But this time, focus on the voice,"  
"Lt Craigan of the self-proclaimed Male Rebellion, you've been accused of conspiracy and high treason," a crisp, clear female voice spoke, "And with the sabotage of Matronus, and the deaths of countless innocent Matrians,"  
Craigan jerked.  
"What I can't figure out," the voice went on, "Is how you managed to sabotage Matonus, given that you were captured over a day before the explosion. And under surveillance the entire time you were there. Or how it is that you are accused of being one of the saboteurs when the Matrian Intelligence Agency has firmly declared that all the saboteurs were killed in the explosion."  
As the voice spoke, a hazy figure began to take form. She was female, obviously, with aurburn hair and faint lines around her deep blue eyes. Craigan recognized her uniform immediately as belonging to the Old Matrian Defence Force. The rank of Colonel appeared on her arm and her features slowly began to take shape.  
"So I suppose what my commanders are really wanting is for me to make you disappear," she finished.  
"Who-"  
"I'm Colonel Myress Abela," the woman said, "I am the construction manager for Installation 317B,"  
"Why am I here?" Craigan didn't know if he was replaying a previous conversation with the woman, or simply interrogating his memory of her. In the end, it didn't really matter.  
"Something happened after you were stunned, Mr. Craigan. I'm afraid it was something horrible."  
"What?"  
"Matronus has been destroyed. Hundreds of thousands are dead. Maybe over a million. Reports are too chaotic to know for sure."  
Craigan was stunned.  
"What does that have to do with me?" he squeaked.  
"I told you. You're here because you've been accused of heinous crimes. This facility is the most secure place in the Matrian Empire,"  
"But, I didn't do anything!" Craigan insisted, "When's my trial? This has to be sorted out!"  
"You're not getting a trial," Abela replied curtly, "I already told you, my commanders simply want you to disappear."  
Her firm, military demeanour faded, just a little bit.  
"And that's just part of the problem.

Craigan jerked in his seat, pulling away from Sevkor's fingers and knocking Yvonnokoff's coffee cup to the floor.  
"Ohhh, yvot!" she cursed, "It took fife-teen meenutes to get zat brought here from Horton's mess hall!"  
"What's wrong?" Stafford demanded.  
"Something startled him," Sevkor said, "enough to disrupt the meld,"  
"Craigan?"  
They gathered around the Matrian as he settled himself back into his seat.  
"I was a loose end," he said slowly, "They knew that somebody had stolen something,"  
"They?"  
"The government. The Council of Mistresses," Craigan said, "Whatever it was, it was really important. But they didn't know who had it. They just knew that I was supposed to be the courier. So they waited until I had it, then they took it back. But they didn't want anybody to know that it had ever existed, and putting me to trial would make that public knowledge. They needed me to disappear. That was it."  
"Why not kill you?"  
"I think she was supposed to," Craigan mused.  
"She?  
"Colonel Abela. The woman who was in charge of Haven's construction,"  
"Now we're getting somewhere!" Stafford said eagerly, "Why didn't she kill you? What were you carrying?"  
"You said Old Matronus was destroyed by a computer virus? Craigan asked.  
Stafford nodded.  
Craigan swallowed.  
"I think that's what I was carrying," he said, "I…Goddess. If I hadn't been caught…if I'd destroyed that chip…"  
"Sometimes the fate of entire worlds pivot on the actions of a single person," Stafford sighed, "But this doesn't help our situation right now,"  
"But Abela must have told me more!" Craigan insisted, "I've been hearing her voice too often…and most of what she's been telling me wasn't in that conversation."  
"Then let us continue," Sevkor said.

It wasn't the same conversation. Craigan knew this at once.  
He had been concentrating on what had happened next, but instead of the empty black space, he now found himself in the lab where he'd been found. The other twelve Matrians were still in stasis, and Craigan himself was feeling the nausea and tremors that usually accompanied the revivification process.  
"What-"  
"Hello, Mr. Craigan," Abela said. She was standing in front of him. She was still wearing a uniform, but it was slightly different. "How are you feeling?"  
"How long-"  
"You've been frozen for about four years," Abela said, "I'm afraid the situation hasn't improved,"  
"I'm still supposed to be killed, is that it?" he said bitterly. The sickness at being falsely accused was almost enough to overshadow the hibernation sickness.  
"As far as my superiors are concerned, you're already dead, Mr. Craigan,"  
"Won't the next person to drop by the place find one hell of a surprise," he said.  
"Nobody knows where Installation 317 is anymore, Craigan. I've seen to that." Abelai said, "But if our people survive, they may find it again."  
"What…survive?"  
"A lot's happened in the last few years, Craigan," Abela sighed, "After Matronus was destroyed, the Council of Mistresses declared war against the Male Rebellion. The problem, however, is that the Male Rebellion isn't another country or planet that can be fought. How do you fight a war against your own people?"  
Craigan was still too confused to say anything.  
"The Council started restricting male movement, arresting masculinists, taking ridiculous security measures," Abela shook her head, "Four more Districts have tried to succeed from the Planetary Government. Two of our colony worlds have cut off ties to Matria Prime."  
"WHAT!?"  
"The Council deployed troops against the weaker District," Abela said, "And things just started spiralling out of control from there,"  
Craigan was speechless.  
"Our people are at war, Craigan," she said, "At war with themselves. I…I had my suspicions, you know. The Council reacted quickly after Matronus was destroyed. Far too quickly. And it just so happened that none of the Council members were aboard our capital city when it was destroyed. I can't buy that, not two coincidences like that. They knew what was going to happen."  
She gave Craigan a sort of smile.  
"It's why I didn't kill you years ago," she said mirthlessly.  
The scene abruptly switched. The lab was the same, only Abela had changed. The lines around her eyes were deeper now, her face was tired. He wasn't in the stasis pod any longer; now he was seated across a table from her, a cup of Matrian coffee cups between his hands.  
"It's been ten years, Craigan. Ten years since Matronus was destroyed. And the war is still going on. They're calling it the Gender War, did I tell you that? Most of the major cities have started digging underground shelters; they're afraid things are just going to keep escalating."  
She spoke to him of the continuing civil war. The colony planets of the Matrian Empire had either been pulled into the conflict, or had simply cut ties to their homeworld. The Council was calling for an offensive to retake Farnitia, one of the closer colonies, however three of the opposing districts had allied against the Council. According to Matrian Intelligence, a fourth was in negotiations to join as well. They'd already been nicknamed the Coalition of Three, but there were serious concerns that it would be the Coalition of Four, or more, by the end of the year.  
"But why are they fighting!?" Craigan cried out, frustrated beyond belief. His people were tearing themselves apart and here he was, stuck in a forgotten freezer.  
"Oh, the different Districts have their own reasons," Abela shook her head, "J'Taeri objects to the rampant discrimination against men that came out of the destruction of Matronus. Raleesh believes that we should build another Matronus, or more, to minimize our impact on the environment. Stupid, isn't it? And Bevin wants their government run by the men only, of all things!"  
"So why doesn't the Council negotiate with them?"  
"Craigan, if Matronus hadn't been destroyed, the measures J'Taeri objects to never would have come to pass. Raleesh wouldn't have to call for a move into orbital habitats, our people were already moving in that direction. Destroying Matronus changed everything, and now everybody is at each other's throats!"  
"But why would the Male Rebellion destroy Matronus?" Craigan demanded, "It's against all we were standing for! And it's only made things wore for us!"  
"Craigan, don't you see? I know the Male Rebellion didn't destroy Matronus," Abela said sadly, "It was the Council of Mistresses. This is what they wanted. They wanted this war, and framing the rebels for the destruction of Matronus was the perfect way to get it."  
She looked at him almost fondly.  
"And if the worst happens, Craigain, the fate of our people is going to be in your hands,"

This time Craigan was screaming when he jolted out of the meld.  
Wowryk had returned from her latest rebel meeting and was immediately at his side.  
"He's going into shock!" she declared, grabbing for her med-kit Craigan abruptly vomited, spewing all over the floor.  
"Find something interesting?" Stafford asked Sevkor, watching with concern while Wowryk administered to the Matrian.  
"Much of interest, Sevkor reported, "Yet nothing that will aid in our current situation."  
"We don't have time for this!" Stafford growled, "From their latest report, Valtaic's team is trying to sneak up on the robots from the lowest levels of the facility, but we need a way to shut them down! Or at least information on what they might be guarding!"  
Craigan was climbing back into his seat.  
"I believe we're on the right track," Sevkor said.  
"I think you should take a break before you go on," Wowryk said, sounding worried, "We don't know how well Matrian brains respond to mind-melds!"  
"No, I have to know what happened," Craigan insisted.  
"I'm just trying to look out for your well-being," Wowryk said crossing her arms.  
"And I thank you. But we must continue."  
Sevkor pressed his fingertips to Craigan's face.

The conversations were blurring together.  
They always started the same, with a blast of cold and a wave of nausea as he awoke from hibernation. They always ended the same, with his last view prior to unconsciousness being Abela's face.  
"The Council reclaimed J'Taeri two months ago, Craigan,"  
Five years later.  
"J'Jaeri broke free a year ago,"  
"Space forces are building. We're certain than an assault on the colonies is next,"  
"Lost contact with one of our bases in the tropics. It looks like they were wiped out by a biological weapon,"  
Abela kept getting older. When he'd first met her, she was in her early middle-age. But as the conversations progressed, a few years here, a few years there, she'd aged considerably. Soon there was telltale grey creeping into her auburn hair.  
They spoke of current events. Abela did most of the speaking, as Craigan really didn't have anything new to tell her about.  
"I don't think you realize just how important you've become to me, Craigan," she said once, giving him a kiss on the cheek before the stasis tube closed.  
It was over 50 years into the Gender War when he realised that her aging had slowed.  
"I have a confession to make, Craigan," she said, "I haven't been part of the Matrian Defence Force for over 30 years, real time."  
"But…why?"  
"Craigan," tears were coming to her eyes now, "I know how much hearing about the war upsets you. Can you imagine living through it? Especially when you know that it all started as a foolish power grab? A power grab that included a genocide?" she shook her head, "I couldn't speak out against the Council, they'd have me silenced instantly. I couldn't take it anymore, Craigan. Our people, they've gone too far. They've spent so many decades fighting, bickering." She looked directly into his eyes. "The Matria I loved and served died when Matronus was destroyed, Craigan. I thought I could bring it back. I thought that by working to end the war quickly I could stop our people from going too far. But they've finally done it. They finally went too far. And I'm afraid this place is going to be the last trace of our civilization."  
"I've been in stasis, Craigan," she said, "I've set the computer to wake me up every five years or so. Long enough to see what's happening. Installation 317B is hooked right into the planetary military network, with an untraceable linkup. Sometimes I take my shuttle to one of the cities, gather some intel. But always back here for another five years. Every time I wake up, I hope that things have changed…that they're showing some sign of ending this madness.  
"But it's not happening. Not yet."  
"What do you mean, 'they've gone too far'?" Craigan asked, his mouth dry.  
"The Council ordered the use of a gravitic mine on J'Taeri," Abela said, "It was close to a fault line, and triggered tectonic activity that killed millions. J'Taeri retaliated with an antimatter missile strike, but it was defeated by anti-missile defenses. So their allies deployed an old nuclear device, killing a few million more. I keep waiting for this war to end, Craigan, but it just keeps escalating!"  
"It's been 60 years now, Craigan. Two colonies have been evacuated back to the homeworld…"  
"…70 years now, Craigan. Ties with neighbouring civilizations have been cut for over 30…"  
"80 years, Craigan. The population is down to half of what it was when the war started."  
"90 years, Craigan."  
"The war ended today, Craigan," Abela said. She must have been spending more time out of stasis, as she looked like she'd aged a good ten years. Her eyes were dimming, her hair had greyed and the lines around her eyes and mouth were deep.  
Craigan felt hope flare in him. From his point of view, only a few days had passed.  
"Then, it's over? We can leave this place?"  
Abela shook her head.  
"No Craigan," she said sadly, "The war is over, but something terrible has happened."

Voltaic and Fifebee were becoming increasingly frustrated.  
They hadn't seen a construction bot in nearly an hour. They'd made their way close to what Fifebee claimed was the center of the installation, however they'd had to climb up a few levels. There was some sort of energy transfer machinery at the very bottom center of Haven. They couldn't access the entire thing, but they'd passed through a large, three-level space that contained several heavy energy conduits and what looked like an energy transfer receiver of some kind. Possibly the connection between Haven and some sort of geothermal generating system?  
The frustration came in because they couldn't investigate the equipment or try to determine what it did. The construction bots could renew their assault at any time.  
As they moved up, they found another large engineering space. This one had a stacked, cylindrical assembly dead center, surrounded by control pulpits.  
"Computer core," Fifebee exclaimed at once. She was about to step into the room when Valtaic stopped her.  
"Alarm grid," he said, pointing to a barely visible emitter array ringing the door.  
"This could be what we're looking for, Valtaic!"  
"Then why are there no bots here now?" he demanded, "Why is their attention focused several levels up?"  
"This may have the means to turn them off!" Fifebee insisted, "Even if the panels are locked, we may be able to find the command lines or input buffers we need to bypass the security lockout!"  
"Which could take hours!"  
"Not if we plug Sylvia directly into the core,"  
"Whoah, leave me out of this," Sylvia said, "Besides, my module is up in the Command Complex. Doing something like that over the holo-relay link would be…unpleasant."  
"We must try," Fifebee said.  
Valtaic closed his eyes briefly. Very well. A decision had to be made, and he was in charge of the team. Perhaps there was an alternative. He carefully moved one hand near the alarm grid and started manipulating his energy field. Perhaps he could short out the alarm.  
BWA-CHUME! BWA-CHUME!  
"Uh-oh,"  
Fifebee ran for the computer core and started tapping at a panel, only to see the standard lockout message.  
"Valtaic, your hand!"  
Quickly understanding, he ran his hand over the security sensor on the underside of one of the panels.  
ACCESS DENIED!  
"Ohh, there is no way this can be good," Sylvia sighed.  
"Try to bypass the security lockout," Valtaic ordered, moving towards the door. "I will keep watch for bots,"

Several levels above, Wowryk, Stafford and Yvonnokoff looked up as the dim lighting was supplemented by slowly pulsing red lights and a distant alarm.  
"Stafford to Pye," Stafford tapped his badge, "Um, you guys up in the command complex didn't do that, did you?"  
"No sir, honest!" Pye's worried voice came back. In the background, Stafford could hear other comm channels opening and panicked voices demanding explanations.  
"Ohh, this can't be good," Stafford groaned.  
"Valtaic to Stafford, "  
"Stafford here,"  
"Sir, we've tripped an alarm of some kind,"  
"We can see that,"  
"We've entered what appears to be a computer core control room. Fifebee is attempting to bypass the lockout, however we anticipate an attack by the construction bots shortly,"  
"We'll try to get you something helpful!" Stafford said, "Maybe if they're all chasing after you, we can get past them up here!"  
"Sir, no. You cannot risk an attack on the upper levels. There are too many civilians."  
"Dammit!"  
In the center of the room, Craigan and Sevkor appeared to be oblivious to the situation.  
Appeared to be.

"Why isn't the end of the war a good thing?" Craigan demanded.  
"The war didn't end because our people came to an agreement," Abela said, "It ended because one side mastered mind control. Even as we speak, females across the planet are preparing to go into hibernation while the males begin rebuilding from the devastation,"  
"What, and after disagreeing for a hundred years, suddenly they all agree this is the best course of action?"  
"Of course not," Abela shook her head, "The Council has perfected a device that can used to influence the minds of anybody within its influence,"  
"That's monstrous!"  
"It is," Abela agreed.  
"So," Craigain shooked his head, his whole world breaking apart, "What do we do?"  
Abela paced for a moment.  
"Craigan, I still have certain…access…to classified military documents," she said "I've been able to maintain that over the past hundred years. And I know what the Cousel wants, more than anything.  
"They want consensus," Abela went on, "The original masterminds of this war are long dead. The original conflict is all but forgotten. This installation? Not even a myth. For the past few decades, the goal of the war has been to unify our people under one common cause. Of course, nobody could agree on that cause, and the war continued. Now they have that,"  
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" Craigan asked, "I mean, at least the war is over, right?"  
Abela blew out a breath.  
"Their plan right now is that the women will stay in hibernation until the men have finished rebuilding what was destroyed," she said, "As punishment for their crimes. Ridiculous! The men weren't responsible for this! At least, not in the way that everybody thinks! And even if that does happen, even if they are successful in homogenizing our people, so to speak, what's to say that their cause will be just? I don't know what course they plan to take, but if the path they choose mirrors that of the original council, the one that started this war, then our people will truly have lost their way. And the struggles of the past century will have been for nothing."  
"Then what are we going to do?"  
Abela was quiet for several moments.  
"Sooner or later, our people will emerge from hibernation," Abela said, "And one day, they might find this place. I was right, you know. This really is the last trace of our civilization, the one that's died a slow death over the past century."  
"But…if they're like the old Council…if things turn out for the worst?"  
"Then they can't have it," Abela said, "I'd see it destroyed before I let it fall into the wrong hands."  
"You still haven't even told me what this place is!"  
"I know, Craigan. And it's just as well. You'd have to forget anyway."  
"What?"  
"I'm going to erase your memories, Craigain."  
"What. WHY?"  
There was an abrupt shift in the meld. Distantly, Craigan could here sirens, and sense a state of increased urgency. Abela seemed to sense it as well.  
"You need to be ready for this moment, Craigan," she said. This time he wasn't simply reliving a memory. He didn't know if he was imagining what she would say, or if he was somehow connected with the woman who had been his only source of contact for over a hundred years, but he could sense that what was happening now was NOT a memory.  
"When they find this place, whoever they are, you are going to be one of the first things they find," Abela said, "And if they even suspect that you know the things you do, you could be in the greatest of danger. And I need you."  
"For what?" Craigan demanded, frustrated and confused.  
"Tell me about these people who found you," Abela said. An image of Wowryk appeared. "Tell me of this one,"  
"She helped wake our people," Craigan replied, "She helped convince them that equality was better then trying to conquer the galaxy,"  
"Our people tried that?"  
"Apparently. She also helped lead the defence of our planet against a new enemy, the Qu'Eh."  
"And this one?" Queen Anselia appeared. Craigan imagined King Hektor next to her, and was unsurprised when he abruptly appeared.  
"The King and Queen of the Matrian Republic," he said. He shook his head, "I don't understand!"  
"Do you trust them?"  
"What?"  
Captain Stafford appeared.  
"Another alien," Abela commented, "They seem to have a lot of hands in our government, don't they?"  
Yanick appeared, then one of the Governors on the Council, followed by Admiral Verithi.  
"Why are you DOING this?" he yelled.  
"I'm not doing anything," Abela said softly. She appeared now as she was when he first met her, the colour back in her hair and the youthful vitality back in her features, "You're doing this. Because deep down, you understand your task,"  
"But I don't know what it is! How can I understand it?"  
This time, it was dozens of people that appeared. Stafford and Wowryk, Anselia and Hektor, the Council of Governors & Governesses, Admiral Verithi, though he'd seen her only in news broadcasts. Mistress Laheya, Agent Jural and several of the rebel leaders.  
"These are the people with knowledge of Haven," Abela said, Anselia's name for the installation coming right from Craigain's mind, "And these are the people who will control it if they manage to unlock its secrets."  
"But what does this have to do with me?"  
"Reconciliation, Craigan,"

Valtaic started as he heard the clattering of metallic feet on the corridor floor.  
"Incoming," he said calmly.  
"I have located an authentication node," Fifebee said, "however, it appears to be encoded with a fractal encryption sequence. It could take time to break it,"  
"Minutes? Hours?" Valtaic demanded, pulling out his phaser.  
"Months to years," Sylvia corrected him.  
The first bot came into view, firing a beam past Valtaic's head.  
"We don't' have that much time," he said firmly. He hit the manual door control, sealing it shut just before another beam struck it. They moved to another door, one they had sealed before, only to see a sharp dent appear, as if struck by one of those spidery robotic hands.  
"Voltaic to Stafford. Our situation has become somewhat more urgent!'

"What does that mean?" Craigain demanded.  
"You've remembered so much, Craigan," Abela said, "More than you were supposed to, really. But if you'd done your job, none of this would have been necessary,"  
"My job? What do you mean my job?"  
"You know what your task is," Abela repeated, "It's why you insisted on joining the aliens on their rescue mission, and why you returned here after you saw what you needed. It's why you have spent so much time speaking with the new leaders of the Matrian Republic. You've already completed it…you just don't realize it yet. Perhaps it's my fault, I was very thorough with that mind wipe. You have no idea how much it pained me to do that, by the way,"  
"Craigan, Sevkor, we're having a bit of a crisis here! If we don't turn those bots off soon, people are going to die!"  
"You've done so much," Abela said, shaking her head, "And lost so much. I suppose the least I owe you is a hint,"  
She came close to him, close enough that he could smell the pleasant scent of her perfume.  
"Craigan, do you trust that these people want only the best for our people? Do you trust that they want to create a Matrian Republic we can both be proud of?"  
The crowd of people was still staring at him. Anselia and Hektor, who had pulled their civilization from its stagnant virtual reality and tried to bring it into the galactic community. Verithi, who was concerned only with protecting their world. Stafford and Wowryk, who had started as Matria's enemies, only to return later to try to help them find their place in the community. He remembered Anselia and Stafford talking about the sports competitions held between the Matrians and the Silverado crew, held in the spirit of strengthening ties. He remembered sitting in on Council debates, listening to some of the most idiotic drivel he'd heard in his life. But he remembered the mix of male and female council members, and that they were disagreeing. That seemed most important, for if Abela's worst fears had been realized, the technology developed by their people would have prevented anybody from disagreeing with the 'chosen path'.  
"Yes," he said, "I do,"  
"Then that's all we need to know," Abela smiled.  
And the memories came flooding back.

Craigan jumped to his feet so suddenly that Sevklor was knocked flat on his back.  
"RECONCILIATION!" Craigan shouted.  
"You have succeeded in reconciling my ass with this very hard floor quite nicely," Sevkor said, sounding very annoyed. (Emotion was a common side effect of mind melds with emotional species.)  
"Huh?" Stafford asked.  
"Listen to me!" Craigain said quickly.

"Stafford to Valtaic!"  
"He better have something good to tell us!" Sylvia cried out. She and Fifebee were shielding Valtaic with their holographic bodies. One of the door panels buckled from the mechanical onslaught and they all had to duck a wielding beam.  
Valtaic abruptly spoke up.  
"Recognize codeword, reconciliation!" he shouted at the bots, "Initiate stand down sequence!"  
The words were in slightly mangled Matrian, passed to him through Stafford. But the effect was immediate. The bots lowered their weapons, returned their sheet-metal shields to their previous positions, turned as one and started clattering away.  
"Oh thank heavens," Sylvia exclaimed.  
"Come," Valtaic said, "We are to meet the Captain at the stairway we first discovered.

"She never told me what Haven was," Craigan was saying to Stafford, Jural and Wowryk as they descended the stairs. "I think she knew, from the very beginning, what she wanted me to do." They'd opted to limit the initial exploratory team to members with some combat training, just in case.  
"But why all the memory wiping?"  
"I needed to be unbiased," Craigan said, "She believed that if I knew I was passing judgement on whoever found this place, it would affect my decision,"  
"A hundred years is a long time to sit around waiting to judge somebody,"  
"Two hundred," Craigan corrected him, "but who's counting?"  
They met up with Valtaic's team. Craigan led them to one of the spoke-like corridors and straight into what had been the heart of robot territory.  
"Thank you, by the way," Sylvia said, patting Craigon on the back, "Fifebee and I would have been fine, even if the relay was lost. But Valtaic would have died a very messy death,"  
Valtaic inclined his head.  
"What are we looking for, anyway?" Stafford asked, "You know Anselia's going to demand a full report, as soon as we get back up."  
"I'm not sure," Craigan said, "But I remember Abela telling me that if I decided whoever found Haven could be trusted, I was to bring them to this place.  
"And if not,"  
"Then the code word I would have given the robots, discord, would have caused them to storm Haven and kill you all,"  
"Ohhh, charming,"  
They'd arrived at a very secure-looking pair of doors.  
"Signal Analysis," Fifebee read the door label, "Access restricted,"  
"Signal Analysis," Stafford repeated, "That sounds like an Intelligence operation, doesn't it?"  
"It does," Fifebee said, tapping at her tricorder.  
"And as Minister of Planetary Defence," Stafford ran his hand over the security reader, "I should have access to that. Assuming the readers down here access the central HQ database the same way the others do."  
The doors hissed open, revealing an airlock-type compartment. A window in one wall looked into an empty security booth.  
"Very black-ops," Sylvia observed uncomfortably as they crowded in. Stafford ran his hand against another panel.  
Craigan didn't know what the Starfleeters expected to find. They'd probably expected to see the big, two level room filled with display screens that made the ones in the Command Complex look like tricorder screens. They probably expected the various analysis consoles, video surveillance feeds and data processing terminals. After all, he was expecting to find all that, what with the place being called Signal Analysis and all.  
What he didn't expect to see was the dried, mummified corpse lying in the middle of the room. From the looks of his companions, he was sure they didn't expect it either.  
"What…" Craigain noticed the corpse was wearing an old, tattered uniform.  
Abela's uniform.  
"No!" Craigan shouted out. He took two steps into the room, then spun and fell to the floor as the world around him went dark.

"Craigan!" Wowryk exclaimed, watching as he collapsed to the floor. She was about to step out after him when Fifebee pulled her back.  
"NO!" Fifebee shouted, uncharacteristically loudly, "STAY BACK!"  
"What is it?" Stafford asked urgently.  
"That," Fifebee said, pointing at one side of the room.  
They turned.  
"Oh shit," Stafford said softly.  
"You can't be serious," Wowryk groaned.  
Connected to one wall was a Matrian Spatial Interphase Device. Its lights were blinking, and according to the limited data on Fifebee's tricorder, it was fully operational.  
Right next to it was a stasis tube. In it was a woman none of them recognized, except for from Craigan's description. Even then, they might not have recognized her, except for her uniform.  
It was a complete twin to the rotted one on the floor. Right down to the nametag.  
A clone.  
Fifebee, assured now that nobody would be stepping into the bubble-like field around the M-SID, the field that would trap anybody who entered it in a virtual reality from which they may or may not be able to return, resumed tapping at her tricorder.  
"This certainly complicates the situation," she remarked.

End.

Next: While all hell has been breaking loose in Haven, the Hazardous Team finds themselves with a bit of down time. After all, what can do you on a deserted island aside from swim, frolic and enjoy the outdoors? Plenty. Especially after the hostile natives find you!


	12. Paid Vacation

Star Traks: Silverado

5.12 - Paid Vacation

Lt Cmdr Simon Jeffery, Chief Engineer of the USS Silverado (In theory, anyway. He hadn't actually served aboard the ship in ages.) turned his head to the side and vomited profusely.  
"Yup, he's still alive," a voice said as Jeffery chocked and gasped for air.  
"Luckily us Hazardous Team types are well versed in a variety of useful, life-saving skills!" another voice said, sounding rather proud.  
"Sure, but I'm still telling the whole crew that you were making out with Jeffery," the original voice said.  
"We were NOT making out! I was giving him CPR!"  
"As soon as you start using tongue, it's not CPR anymore,"  
"Why you-"  
There was the sound of scuffling, then a shot of sand hit Jeffery across the face. Finally, he opened his eyes and struggled to sit up.  
"Ah'm never drinkin' again," he muttered to himself. As his memories rushed back however, he remembered that over-indulgence had nothing to do with the pounding in his head, at least not this time. He was seated on a white, sandy beach with nothing but rippling ocean as far as the eye could see. The first word that would have popped into his mind would have been 'pristine', if only the beach weren't littered with smashed spaceship parts. Whatever had happened to the Qu'Eh runabout they'd stolen, Jeffery was willing to bet that at least half of it was now scattered across the stretch of sand in pieces no bigger than Jeffery himself. A few feet to his left, Marsden and Simmons were rolling around on the sand, each one intent on twisting the other's head off.  
"Oy! Jeffery croaked, "Shut it! Yer making me head split!"  
"It's better to let them get it out of their systems," T'Parief's voice advised, "Otherwise we will have to listen to them whine and bicker for the next several hours."  
"Whot…" Jeffery looked around, but didn't see the green officer anywhere. Sandy beach, rippling ocean, grasses and small trees leading into jungle or forest, yeah he saw all of that. But of T'Parief, there was no sign.  
"Look up," now the reptile sounded almost amused.  
Jeffery did, finding himself staring straight at T'Parief's stomach. The reptile was about 30 feet above the ground, perched in a large, flexible-looking tree.  
"Whatcha doin'?" Jeffery asked, rather dumbly.  
"I was thrown into this tree when the runabout crashed," T'Parief explained, "And as it is an excellent vantage point, I've opted to stay up here while the others handled rescue and first-aid,"  
Jeffery followed the tip of T'Parief's tail, which was pointing back along his 'flight path' to the shattered remains of the runabout. It had crashed into a sort of split mountain-top, two peaks wide enough to admit the cockpit of the ship but not wide enough for the main body. Jeffery realized that the cockpit must have broken free and disintegrated as it fell over the beach and into the ocean, taking them with it. He also realized he was soaked with salty-smelling sea water.  
"Stern dragged you out of the ocean some time ago," T'Parief explained, answering Jeffery's unanswered question, "After Marsden administered CPR you vomited, began breathing and passed out. We were unsure as to whether you would come to again, and we definitely didn't expect additional vomit. Stern and the others are trying to salvage what they can from the wreckage,"  
"Oh." Apparently, Stern and T'Parief had everything well in hand. Nothing for Jeffery to do but sit back, relax and enjoy the sunshine.  
"Wait, where's Yanick?" he demanded.  
"She is resting comfortably," T'Parief said calmly, but there was something in his voice that Jeffery couldn't put his finger on, "She managed to stay with the cockpit section until it hit the water, then swam to shore,"  
"Really? Good on her,"  
"She is a remarkable human," T'Parief commented. Jeffery noticed that although T'Parief appeared to be scanning whatever he could see from the treetop for whatever he was looking for, his gaze kept returning to his far right. Deciding to check up on Yanick, who was undoubtedly somewhere in that direction, Jeffery climbed to his feet and started moving.

"And after we split Fifebee and Sylvia, Fifebee was able to do her holographic pass-through-walls trick to help us figure out what some of the rooms were," Yanick was saying, going on her chirpy, happy-go-Yanick voice, "And Valtiac figured out how to open the mechanical door locks, so we could pry the doors open instead of phasering them, which Anselia wouldn't let us do anyway. All the good stuff is still locked up, but at least we could sleep in real beds, and eat real food, and shower once in a while! It was almost as bad as Survival Training, remember? When they'd dump you on a deserted planet for a week and expect you to survive? Of course, they were up in orbit with sensors tracking you, and all that. Heh, I remember this one guy stopped to take a 'personal happy moment' and they caught the whole thing with the ship's visual sensors! He was SOOOO embarrassed!"  
As Jeffery walked up the beach, he'd found Yanick sitting in the shade of the trees, facing a small cove. A small pile of supplies scavenged from the runabout had been started, and the Matrian prisoner they'd rescued had been lain out in a shady spot. At first Jeffery thought that Yanick's stream of chatter had been directed at her, then he saw that she was cradling somebody's dark-haired head on her lap. (He was relieved to look further and see that the head was, in fact, still attached to its owner's body.) He could see a faded spattering of Trill spots tracing down the temple and along the neck, which didn't make any sense. There were no Trill on the Hazardous Team…  
"Anyway, we don't have any nightclubs or anything yet," Yanick went on as she gently stroked the dark, mussed hair, "not even any good music. But, y'know, it's gotta be better than living up with the Qu'Eh, right?"  
As he came closer, Jeffery realized that it was Jall's head that Yanick was talking to. The tall, lanky officer was sprawled out on the beach, lying so completely motionless that Jeffery was certain that he was dead.  
Yanick's head turned to face him.  
"He won't wake up," she said sadly, "We pulled him out of the water when we found you, but he won't wake up!"  
"Trish," Jeffery said gently, unsure how to handle this, "I think…he may be…"  
"Oh, no, he's not dead," Yanick almost giggled. She put one hand on Jall's chest, "He's breathing, and I can feel his heart beating.  
"Oh! Well…good on 'im, then."  
"I'm scared the Qu'Eh did something to him," Yanick went on, her voice again sounding sad, "They took him to their ship weeks ago. I don't see any cuts, or marks, or any other sign that they…you know. But Marsden said the Qu'Eh were using some of that weird Matrian mind-machine stuff."  
Suddenly, the Matria prisoner sat bolt-upright and shouted.  
"I DON"T KNOW WHERE HAVEN IS!"  
She looked around blankly for a moment, then flopped back to the sand.  
"Has she been doing that a lot?" Jeffery asked.  
"No,"  
"Still," Jeffery motioned at Jall's form, "Ye might want to ease back a bit. Ye don't want a squished nose if he goes nutters on ye,"  
"Um, right." Yanick eased Jall's head off her lap and tried to make him comfortable, but she didn't leave his side. As she moved, Jeffery could see that her stomach was now very, very distended. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd swear she was a good eight months pregnant.  
"And how are ye?" Jeffery asked.  
"Oh me? Fat as a cow," she grumbled, "And I still don't know why!"  
"But yer feeling…OK?"  
"For now," Yanick said, "It hurts when I swell up more, but once it stops…growing…I feel ok."  
"Growing?" Jeffery squeaked.  
"I already checked for space parasites," Yanick assured him, "Or those funny Barney things some crew came across a few years back…the ones that grew in your chest and clawed their way out? Anyway, it's none of that. Just…fluid build-up,"  
Jeffery made a face.  
"Oh come on, Simon! Aren't we at a point yet where we can discuss our health without getting all icky?"  
"Oh aye, aye," Jeffery said unsteadily.  
But he still kept glancing at Yanick's belly.

While Jeffery and Yanick stood vigil over Jall and the Matrian and while T'Parief served as lookout, the Hazardous Team was combing the shallows for anything useful they could recover from the runabout. They'd left their uniforms on the beach and were swimming through the warm, clear, salty water in their underwear.  
"Man, this has GOT to be the best mission ever," Simmons said, floating on his back, "How come we never trained for anything like this in the holodeck?"  
"You're supposed to be looking for stuff!" Stern reminded him, treading water, looking down and spotting something. He dove, closing his eyes against the salt and reaching out for whatever he'd found. Popping back up to the surface, he found it was just a metal support bracket. He chucked it back towards the beach, in the general direction of the 'junk' pile. Rengs dove under the waves, coming back up with a tricorder. He started swimming towards the 'keep' pile.  
"He's got a good point," Marsden called from a few meters away, "We've spent hundreds of hours training for desert operations, training for urban operations, jungle anti-insurgery,"  
"I think you mean 'insurgency'," Kreklor corrected him.  
'We've trained for hostage situations, item retrievals and demolitions. But we've never, ever run a holo-simulation where we had to swim in a beautiful ocean looking for stuff!"  
"If we did, we'd probably have more people signing up for security," Simmons replied, "maybe even some hot chicks in bikinis!"  
"Yeah, that's totally what this beach is missing," Marsden agreed.  
Stern couldn't argue that point.  
The others were so busy scanning the sandy sea floor that they didn't even notice the fin. It was Simmons, in fact, who lolled one eye to the side to look out over the horizon and saw the dark, blade-like object sticking out of the water.  
"Uh-buh…uh-buuuh!" he tried to point, only to lose his buoyancy and sputter.  
"What's that, Simmons?" Stern asked absently, "See an interesting cloud?"  
"SH-SHAAARK!" Simmons cried, swimming frantically back to the beach.  
The HT looked around frantically, spotting the fin.  
"OH SHIT!"

Jeffery head the shouting immediately and jogged back to where T'Parief was, pardon the pun, hanging around.  
"T'Parief! They're in trouble!" he said frantically, "Do ye have a phaser? A harpoon? Anything?"  
"They're not in trouble," T'Parief replied confidently.  
As Jeffery watched the fin overtook Rengs, who abruptly disappeared under the surface.  
"Bugger!" Jeffery gasped. He took two steps towards the water before T'Parief stopped him with a firm bark of command.  
"If any of them had bothered to read the fauna report on Matria, they'd know that the Matrian equivalent of sharks avoid the equatorial waters due to their warm temperature."  
"But…"  
"That would be a slenun," T'Parief went on, "It is sort of a cross between a dolphin and an eel. They are excellent in soup, however the Matrian government has outlawed slenun hunting due to their intelligence and playful nature."  
"But…" Jeffery said again. As he watched, Rengs was catapulted back out of the water, landing several meters away and sputtering. Jeffery caught a flash of a long, narrow snout and a snake-like neck before the slenun disappeared back under the water.  
"It's got me!" Simmons suddenly shouted, splashing around, "OH MY GOD! IT'S KILLING ME! IT'S….it's… " he trailed off.  
"I think it's humping my leg," he frowned.

By the time the HT had returned to shore, Jeffery and T'Parief were both laughing hysterically. A whole pod of the animals had turned up and had spent nearly half an hour swimming around the terrified humanoids, pushing them through the water, sending them flying through the air and subjecting them to a variety of friendly brushings. It had taken nearly 15 minutes for the HT to fully realize that the animals were friendly, and another 15 for the slenuns to grow tired of them and let them swim to shore.  
"You could have said something!" Simmons shouted angrily.  
"I did," T'Parief chuckled, "In the planetary mission profile I sent you two months ago."  
Dar'ugal shook his body, trying to shake the water out of his fur and succeeding only in turning himself into a damp puff-ball. Jeffery shielded his face as water flew in all directions.  
"Yeah, next time we're throwing YOU in to play with them!' Stern nodded.  
"I don't suppose anybody thought to pack some margaritas?" Marsden wondered, looking past T'Parief at the clear, blue sky.  
"Well, if I'd know we were going to end up stranded on a deserted paradise," Stern shrugged, "I would have added them to the equipment list."

By the time night fell, the Hazardous Team had completed their sweep of the beach, Jeffery had started a pretty good fire and the Matrian prisoner, Bhetti, had fully regained consciousness. She'd been captured during the Qu'Eh sweep of the tunnels under Matronus and taken to the 'Quality Re-evaluation Center' (prison) in Matronus. She'd been selected for special interrogation on P'tarek's ship not because she actually knew anything about Haven, but because a Qu'Eh spy device in her cell block had overheard her talking about the Heavenly Hash ice-cream recipe that had been added to the replicator database when Ambassador Owens had come to the planet two years ago.  
"I tried to tell them that they were making a mistake, but they wouldn't listen to me," she'd explained to Jeffery and T'Parief, "I helped the Rebellion with supplies! You know, smuggling down food and replicator power packs…I don't know anything about Haven!"  
In other words, although T'Parief and his team didn't regret rescuing her, (it was in the job description after all) they'd quickly realized that she wouldn't be of much help in the current situation.  
As the stars appeared in the sky and as two of Matria Prime's moons started to peek over the horizon, they gathered around Jeffery's campfire, picking through the equipment they'd salvaged from the ship.  
"Well, we've still got the SR-shield generator," Jeffery mused, holding the somewhat battered component in one hand, "Ah dunno if it's waterproof or nae, but we really don't have any way of testing it, do we?"  
"Not unless we find a tricorder that still works," Rengs said, tapping angrily at his. Two more lay discarded by his feet. "These ones turn on, but I'm not picking up much of anything on them!"  
"The phasers work," Jeffery said, "Ah used mine to start the fire."  
"Comm-badges?" Stern asked.  
"We dunno. Do ye want to risk sending a signal the Qu'Eh could track?"  
They all exchanged uneasy looks.  
"How else are we going to call for rescue?" Jeffery asked.  
"Who needs to be rescued?" Simmons laughed, "Let's get some moonshine going, maybe build a barbeque pit, and we're set!"  
"Oops, somebody move Jall's feet, his boot is starting to smoke!" Marsden yelped. Yanick reached over and pulled the still-unconscious officer's legs away from the fire. (She'd moved him close to begin with, to keep him warm despite the tropical night air.)  
"Nuuuggggnnnn…." Jall grunted, turning a little.  
"I didn't know he had Trill spots," Rengs said, nodding in Jall's direction.  
"He goes into Sickbay every month or so to have them removed," Yanick said absently, "I guess he's overdue."  
T'Parief's red eyes gleamed in the firelight, so Jeffery knew the instant the reptile starting staring in his direction. His eyes flickered down the beach. Getting the message, Jeffery stood and casually walked a few paces away from the fire.  
"What's up, big guy?" Jeffery asked quietly.  
"We do not know what the Qu'Eh did to Jall," T'Parief said without preamble, "We know they were experimenting with Matrian SID technology, which had the ability to alter the personalities of any beings within their influence,"  
"Aye, but the effects stopped as soon as the gizmo was turned off," Jeffery said.  
"In the Matrian version, yes. Who is to say the Qu'Eh version is the same?"  
"It innae possible," Jeffery shook his head, "The SIDs used a spatial interphase to let interspace influence into our space-time. They used the effects of interspace on the humanoid nervous system to change behaviour. When the interspace influence fades…" Jeffery trailed off as an angry rattle built in T'Parief's throat.  
"I am not interested in techno-babble," T'Parief grumbled, "And again, you are describing the Matrian device. We do not know how the Qu'Eh version worked."  
"OK, fine. Then what's the deal?"  
"When Jall regains consciousness, he may try to take command of the situation," T'Parief explained. "He outranks us both,"  
"Ohhhh…"  
"He knows nothing of the situation,"  
"Neither does Chris half the time, but he manages,"  
"He has been a prisoner of war for nearly a month," T'Parief went on, "He cannot take command until he's been given a full examination,"  
"Who is in command, then?" Jeffery asked sharply.  
"I am," T'Parief said, in a tone that left no room for discussion.  
"And whot's yer plan?"  
"My plan," T'Parief said, "is to wait 48 hours to allow the Qu'Eh reaction to our very successful mission to die down. We will explore the area and attempt to either locate the nearest inhabited settlement or a means of contacting the Rebellion."  
"Sounds good," Jeffery started to turn back towards the fire, but T'Parief stopped him.  
"One last thing," the reptile said, "It is no secret that you have been very vocal about questioning the Captain's plans in situations such as this. I am not as understanding as he is. Defy me, and I will render you unconscious in the most painful manner painful,"  
He game Jeffery a small grin.  
"Just so there are no…misunderstandings."

When they returned to the campfire, Jall was still unconscious, but had begun muttering softly.  
"I think he's going to be OK," Yanick said, smiling at the HT.  
"Yeah, he is," Simmons said, "But what about y-URP!"  
Rengs had jammed an elbow in his kidney.  
"I'M FINE!" Yanick shrieked, her mood switching sides faster than a bisexual at a fashion show.  
"Next time, listen to me!" Rengs whispered, "I've been through this before!" His wife and son were safe and sound in Haven. Meris had even found a chamber near the Transit Hub that was suitable for teaching classes to the small group of children that Silverado crewmen had brought aboard.  
"I wish we had marshmallows," Stern sighed, drinking some of the fresh water they'd salvaged from the runabout, "And hookers. And something cold to drink,"  
"Tomorrow we will begin exploring," T'Parief said, "Our first priority will be fresh water, followed by edible plants and animals. We will go from there."  
"At least it's warm out," Jeffery said, lying down on one side and preparing to sleep, "It's bad enough ye had to give me CPR. A night of cuddlin' together for warmth would just be too much,"  
"It's only gay if you look into each other's eyes!" Simmons said defensively.  
"On that note, I'm turning in," Stern said, rolling over, "Kreklor, you've got first watch. I'll relieve you in two hours,"  
The Klingon grunted, then turned away from the fire, his eyes scanning the dark night.

Commander San Jall felt like somebody had stirred his brains with an egg-mixer. He was aware that he was lying flat on his back and that he was outside. But he was also aware that the fresh air tasted yellow on his tongue and that the crashing surf sounded like strawberries. Market faced the bright centipede automobile as well, which led him to shake his head gently and wonder just what the hell the Qu'Eh had done to his brain. Memories were coming back slowly; the Qu'Eh ship, filling out reams of paperwork, and being led into an interrogation chamber.  
Oh. He was recovering from Qu'Eh interrogation drugs. Or neural scramblers. No, wait. Dishes walked down the brick lined with happy cake. Hmm. OK, that was a bit more coherent than the bit with the centipede anyway. Whatever they'd done to him seemed to be fading up. Off. Out? Whatevever.  
Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position and tried to blink the sunlight out of his eyes.  
"Jall," somebody's voice said, soft yet insistent, "Don't…move…"  
Was that Supervisor Neum?  
"Wha…"  
"And be quiet!"  
As his vision cleared, he found himself sitting near the burnt-out remnants of a campfire. Jall, Jeffery, T'Parief and the Hazardous Team were gathered around him. He'd been rescued!  
Wait. Was there something sharp poking his mid-back, or was that more brain scrambulation?  
As his vision cleared even further, he realized that the Silverado crewmen were all on their knees, their hands on their heads. Behind them stood dozens of spear-wielding Matrians, clad in loincloths and adorned with war-paint.  
He blinked.  
"Thanks for the rescue, guys," he muttered.

As Jall rose carefully to his feet, hands on his head, Stern cursed himself again for current situation. He couldn't fully blame himself. He'd been distracted after all…  
"One bottle of beer on the wall, one bottle of beer," he'd been singing almost under his breath, his back to the fire to preserve his night vision. Even though it was nearly 4AM, the island was still alive with sounds. The swell of the surf as the tide ebbed, the chirping of some sort of insect from deep in the trees, even the occasional grumble of what was probably a larger land animal, likely keeping a distance due to the fire. Still, Stern kept his eyes open and his phaser ready, occasionally circling the campsite to make sure nothing was sneaking up on them.  
"I wish we really had that much beer," somebody had mumbled quietly.  
"You and me both, buddy," Stern had replied, not particularly caring who it was. There was a sudden grumbling sound, then the mystery speaker groaned slightly.  
"Stupid tummy-ache,"  
OK, that had settled it. It was Yanick.  
"We still have a few pieces of the med-kit," Stern had offered, "The tricorders won't work, but-"  
"Ohh, back off. It hasn't gotten any worse,"  
"Hey, just trying to help!"  
Unexpectedly, Yanick had burst into quiet tears. Not quite knowing what to do, Stern stood there like a deer in the headlights. The only other time he'd been around a crying woman was during some of the kinkier role-playing he'd gotten involved in, and those tears had been 100% for show.  
"Sit down and hug me!" Yanick whispered harshly, "Ohh, you security types are all the same! You don't know how to handle a woman unless she comes with an instruction manual!"  
"Some of them come with manuals?"  
As suddenly as they'd started, the tears were gone; replaced with giggles.  
"You boys," Yanick had chuckled, "You'd think four years of working with you would give Pari some of your sense of humour!"  
"Yeah, speaking of him, I'm going to stop hugging you now,"  
"Good idea,"  
Stern had stood and turned to resume his patrol…only to find himself facing a row of sparking lights. Eyes, reflecting the fire. He reached for his phaser, only to find the holster empty.  
"Crap,"  
Now, a couple hours later, their captors seemed ready to move them out.  
"Negithan ornimi," an unusually muscular male Matrian demanded, pointing up the beach.  
"We're going thataway?" Stern asked. He received a sharp jab in response.  
"Definitely that way," he muttered.  
"Don't provoke them," Jeffery said quietly.  
"Oh, don't worry," Stern muttered back, "The HT has had tons of experience with primitives. We got the Bronze Age of Deloria 2, remember?"  
"How could we forget?" Simmons said, "It's the only time we've ever been offered our own love-slaves!"  
"Silence," T'Parief said, softly but firmly. His hands had been bound behind his back, and their captors had no fewer than eight men and woman watching him carefully.  
"Why? They don't seem to mind, as long as we're quiet," Simmons said.  
"We need them to talk so the Universal Translator can get a lock on their language," Rengs explained, "Whatever language they speak, the Matrians didn't give us the translation key when they joined the Federation,"  
"Bhetti, any inklings?" Jeffery asked their Matrian rescuee.  
"No, Lt Commander," Bhetti replied, looking nervously at a stone spear tip a foot from her head, "I've never heard anything about people living in jungles or running around in loincloths,"  
"You've missed out on some great movies, then" Marsden advised her.  
"Huh?"  
"Nevermind."  
They followed the beach for just under a kilometer before turning onto a path and moving into the forest. It was more jungle than forest, Jeffery decided. The trees just seemed to get taller and taller, the underbrush was getting thicker and he was pretty sure he could see vines dangling further ahead. The Matrians didn't seem overly concerned about their situation; they almost seemed bored as they led the HT deeper into the jungle. The Starfleet members, by contrast, were discreetly looking every possible direction, trying to spot hostile animals, venomous plants, any of the hundreds of interesting ways to die that they'd read about in the Starfleet Field Survival Guide – Jungle Edition. The Matrians themselves were a near-even split between men and women, something that immediately struck Jeffery as being odd. They all seemed to be in excellent physical condition; Jeffery hadn't seen so many six-packs since Unbalanced Equations had switched from canned and bottled beer to kegs. (About 2 weeks after Silverado had launched.) Their hair was long but clean and seemed to be tied back with a variety of coloured straps. Leather maybe, or plant material. They all wore narrow loincloths in front and back, which seemed to be made out of animal hide. The women wore what almost looked like animal-hide halter-tops. Jeffery wished they would have put in the extra effort for decent animal-hide bikinis, but he had to admit the view still wasn't bad. Some wore jewellery, including the big male that seemed to be in charge. They'd all painted their faces with a variety of colours, and Jeffery again couldn't help but notice that the guy in charge seemed to have the most elaborate face-paintings.  
Jall, walking right behind Jeffery, had noticed about half of this. His brain was still pretty scrambled after all. But he did have one piece of insight that Jeffery hadn't.  
"I know I haven't had as much experience with the Matrians as the rest of you," he said quietly, "But isn't it sort of strange that a tribe of primitive Matrians would have a man in charge?"  
Jeffery started. T'Parief simply nodded agreement.  
"Unless he's only in charge of the raiding party," Kreklor suggested. He'd also been shackled  
"Even so," Jall said. Something else was bothering him about these aliens. But what was it?  
"Lt. Cmdr Stern" T'Parief said carefully, "Did your report on Deloria 2 not state that the…inhabitants…had a particular reaction to Kreklor and Dar'ugal?" In other words, didn't the primitive ancient Delori freak out when they saw that two of your team were alien?  
Realization dawned on Stern's face.  
"Hey, yeah!" he said.  
"These guys don't look like they're about to worship us," Kreklor said, "or consider us demons,"  
"How can we tell? They haven't said anything yet!" Stern wondered.  
"And why aren't they saying anything, anyway?" Jall demanded.  
"Thoreng abbath," the guard behind him said almost casually before bopping him on the top of his head with his spear.  
"Owww. Hey, don't stir the porridge! It's already well-mixed!"  
"Thoreng-"  
"Okay, shutting up now!" Jall raised his hands in surrender.

They walked for nearly an hour before reaching the village. The ground, which had risen fairly steadily since they'd left the beach, now dropped down into a sort of basin. The trees towered above them, their canopies blocking the sky completely but letting a pleasant amount of light filter down to the ground. They reached a cliff wall, a sheer stone slab towering higher than even the trees. They followed this for a short time before the sound of crashing water could be heard, even felt beneath the soles of their feet.  
"I hope this isn't the part where they hold us underwater and decide that whoever drowned was innocent and whoever survived was a witch," Marsden whimpered.  
"Me too," Simmons agreed.  
"We've done nothing to them, shown no hostility," Stern said, "We're not here to hurt them, they've got no reason to hurt us!"  
"Well, we did crash an alien runabout into one of their mountains. Who knows how they're going to respond to that!" Jeffery pointed out.  
"I was trying not to think about that part, actually,"  
The foliage ahead of them abruptly cleared, revealing the Matrian village.  
"Whoah…" Jall muttered, "Somebody needs a new decorator."  
Jeffery didn't agree. The Matrian village had been built around a small lake at the base of a roaring, tumbling waterfall. He couldn't imagine himself sleeping through that racket, but maybe the Matrians had gotten used to it. The pool itself emptied into a large stream (or small river) that wandered off into the jungle, tumbling through rounded, water-eroded rocks before disappearing into the foliage. The village itself was made up of hexagonal huts, each one elevated above the ground, some perched on broad tree branches, some clinging to the rock wall near the falls and others hanging by heavy, braided vines from even higher branches. A network of walkways connected many of the structures, and aside from a single wooden stairway circling a thick tree trunk, the only way up or down seemed to be a collection of vine-rope ladders.  
The rest of the HT noticed all of this as well, of course, but it was Jeffery's engineering mind that saw even deeper. He noticed immediately the perfect, clean cuts made on the bamboo-like wood that had been used to build the huts and walkways. He saw as well that the angles where the floors met the walls were as close to 90 degrees as you could get, and that the hexagonal shape of the huts was likewise close to perfect. He saw that instead of small windows, many sections of the light, bamboo-weave walls slid back to open the hut to the fresh air. Through many of these openings, he saw rolled animal hide tucked up where the wall met the ceiling, no doubt ready to be unrolled if extra insulation was needed. He also saw several small, rock-lined channels had been dug into the ground, positioned to drain rainwater away from the village. The hut roofs were peaked, and had been coated with some sort of thick, black gunk. Pitch? Whatever it was, Jeffery was willing to bet that it was water-repellent.  
In other words, these people might be absolutely primitive by almost any standards, but they weren't stupid savages. Not by a long stretch.  
The Starfleeters were pushed into position near the center of the village, right in front of a large, elaborate-looking chair. No doubt, so somebody could pass judgement on them.  
Jeffery casually moved over towards T'Parief, his eyes not leaving the ring of spears still pointed in their direction.  
"Whoever these people are, they aren't stupid," he said quietly.  
"Hmmm?"  
"Whot Ah mean is," Jeffery considered, searching for the words, "This is the most advanced primitive village Ah've ever heard of,"  
"You are hardly an anthropologist," T'Parief replied.  
The alpha male that had led their capture had disappeared, only to return with what had to be the alpha female. She was spectacular. There was no other way to put it. Not even thirty, she'd immediately dispelled Stern's fear that they were going to have to deal with a wizened old bat. Her figure was divine, curved in all the right places. She easily cleared 6 feet, several inches taller than the alpha male. She wore an elaborate headdress, decorated with things that Jeffery couldn't identify…probably the local analogue of peacock feathers or something. Her lips were a perfect bow, and when she spoke, her voice danced around Jeffery's ears like music.  
Of course, they couldn't understand a word she said.  
"So much for a male-dominated Matrian society," Stern observed, "Yes!"  
Frowning, the woman turned to the male and spoke again. He shrugged, gestured to the prisoners, then said something back.  
Nodding, the woman turned her attention back to them, then spoke again. Her words were different, as were their rhythm. Another language?"  
Still, the HT's Universal Translators were silent.  
She turned back to the male, and they went back into a heated discussion.  
"This society may not be male dominated," Jall said, "But it still looks a lot more co-operative than I'd expect,"  
"We hardly know anything about the regular Matrians," Yanick said. She'd spent a good deal of time liaisoning with them, after all. "We don't have a clue how their primitive societies would have worked. And I've never heard any of the Matrians mention anything like this, thanks for asking!"  
"Sorry Trish," Jall said, giving her a grin, "Feel free to add whatever you like,"  
"I will, thank you!" she immediately started digging into her pocket, "Why don't you try this?"  
"What is it?" Jall asked.  
"It's a comm-badge from Haven," Yanick said, handing him a small, disk-shaped object with six curved triangular indentations around the edge, "It's from before the Gender War, maybe it has their language programmed in,"  
Jall didn't bother asking Yanick why she hadn't suggested this sooner; they hadn't asked. Which had been her whole point.  
Jall held the badge up, trying to find the 'on' switch.  
"OKONOT TARGA!" one of the Matrians shouted, pointing at Jall.  
Suddenly the spears were at the Hazardous Team's throats, and the mild curiosity the alpha woman had regarded them with had been replaced by hostility, mixed with just a bit of fear.  
"Well, we still don't know who they are," Jeffery gulped, "But now they think they know who we are…and Ah donnae think they like us!"

T'Parief moved so fast that he was finished before anybody had even realized he'd started.  
With a flex of his arms, he snapped the vines tying his wrists together. His legs fired like springboards as he leapt directly at the alpha male. One arm circled around the thinner humanoid, trapping his arms at his sides. The other hand came down across the man's forehead. T'Parief twisted so they were facing the alpha female and the message he sent her was clear: One move and I can snap his neck.  
She held up one hand and barked a work of command. The tribesmen and women surrounding the HT didn't lower their spears, but they didn't poke anybody open with them either.  
"Mexican standoff," Stern muttered, "Jall, now would be a good time with that translator.  
"I'm working on it! I don't even know if it's actually off!"  
"Well we can't exactly call technical support, now can we?"  
"We worked in technical support for three days," Marsden said helpfully, "We should be able to do it ourselves!"  
As they bickered, T'Parief and the alpha female stared right into each other's eyes, each taking the measure of the other. In her eyes he saw concern and hostility, but he also so determination. There was something else too…the curiosity was back. And he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it wasn't them that she was afraid of.  
She, on the other hand, saw a lizard-being that looked like a demon out of hell. Of course, most people saw that in T'Parief. But she also saw restraint. And something else too…suspicion? She wasn't sure.  
"Try squeezing the little dome bit on top," Yanick was advising Jall.  
"I already tried that," Jall said, "Nothing happened."  
"Are you sure? That's how I turned it on before,"  
"Maybe it's just not programmed for Federation Standard?" Marsden suggested.  
"Hey, just because I'm blond doesn't mean I can't use a translator!" Yanick snapped, "I programmed it weeks ago!"  
The badge beeped softly.  
"Oh. You had to hold the button down for a few seconds," Jall said calmly.  
"I told you that!"  
"Oh no you didn't!"  
"I told you right at the very beginning!"  
"No you just said to press it! You didn't say anything about holding it down!"  
"I'm pretty sure he's right," Marsden chimed in.  
"SHUT UP!" Yanick snapped, "Nobody asked you"  
"Why didn't you just load our translators with all the Matrian languages instead?" Marsden wondered.  
"Because these ones actually worked in the interference field in Haven!"  
"Excuse us," T'Parief grumbled, annoyed, "We're in the middle of a stand-off here. Could you continue your technical discussion later, so we may continue?"  
"Lower you weapons," the alpha woman said abruptly, her words now being translated, "Somehow, I doubt these ones are much of a threat to us,"  
Uneasily, her people obeyed. T'Parief immediately released the male.  
"We could be," he said to her, "If we so chose,"  
"You are not of Matria," the male said, "Where are you from?"  
"We're from…oh boy, how do we explain this?" Jall groaned.  
"You are from another planet?" the woman asked.  
"Well, yeah," Jall started, surprised she even knew the word, "Not all from the same ones, obviously."  
"Any why are you here?"  
"The Matrian government invited us here," Jeffery said, deciding to ignore the primitive appearance of the natives and just explain in plain language, "They've had some…problems, and were interested in joining our, uh, planetary alliance,"  
"Until another group of aliens invaded and all hell broke loose!" Simmons added helpfully.  
"I see," the woman said slowly, "But you are not with the Council of Mistresses?" She pointed at the Matrian comm-badge.  
"What?" Jall frowned, then his eyes widened in realization, "Oh! No, we just took this thing from an Old Matrian base. It's a long story."  
The woman and the male exchanged a meaningful look. He nodded, then she turned back to T'Parief.  
"Then tell me," this time her voice was so emotional it was almost choked, "Are the Gender Wars over?"

The silence was so complete you could have heard a pin drop on the mossy jungle floor. Even the wildlife seemed to have paused to hear the answer.  
"The Gender Wars ended over a century ago," it was Bhetti that spoke, moving forward in the group, "Our people fell into a…a Dark Age. It ended two years ago. Now we're…we were rebuilding."  
"You are Matrian," the male said.  
"I'm just a supply clerk," Bhetti admitted, "But yeah. These people rescued me from the Qu'Eh."  
"The invaders,"  
"Yeah."  
The alphas were still intent on the HT, but the rest of the villagers were whispering among themselves.  
"Who won the war?" the female asked.  
Jeffery and T'Parief exchanged a look. Jall groaned inwardly. Bhetti looked thoughtful for a moment.  
"Nobody," she finally said.  
"Then who rules Matria?"  
"An elected council. Led by an elected King and Queen,"  
"And the genders are balanced?"  
"Well, it'll be a generation or two before the kinks are worked out, but mostly,"  
Jeffery and Jall moved closer to T'Parief as the conversation continued.  
"They don't seem all that worried about the Qu'Eh, do they?"  
"If they are what I suspect they are, the Qu'Eh would be far down on their list of priorities." T'Parief muttered.  
"I am Leader Hylin," the alpha female said, apparently satisfied with Bhetti's answers, "This is my partner, Leader Drep," she gestured at the alpha male. "The news you have brought is good; it is cause for celebration! And so we probably won't kill you,"  
"Probably?" Jeffery started.  
"We value our privacy," Hylin said simply, "And our secrecy. You have invaded one, and threaten the other. What this means for us and for you remains to be seen."  
"Know this," Drep spoke up, "If the Gender Wars hadn't ended, you would be dead already,"  
"Charmin'," Jeffery squeaked.

The away team was led away from the group of villagers towards the single stairway leading up into the tree village.  
"Normally," their head guard said, "we would have left you in the dirt until we killed you. But since you may be with us a while longer, we can lock you up instead,"  
"Thank you so much,"  
"And we wouldn't think of forcing a woman with child to try climbing a ladder," he added.  
Everybody took a breath and waited for Yanick's retort. Surprisingly, she spoke very calmly.  
"I'm not pregnant. I'm just having a…a medical condition. Please don't ask about it any further,"  
"We get shit, but the evil kidnapping aliens get Miss Manners?" Jeffery wondered.  
"We are not threatening to kill her," T'Parief replied.  
"Oh. Aye,"  
They climbed the stairway obediently enough. Jeffery noted that the steps were interwoven with angular support brackets. Again, it seemed oddly sophisticated for a group of savages.  
They were taken to one of the highest huts in the village. The hut was perched just far enough away from the pond that they couldn't jump into the water, and just high enough that the fall would cause a broken ankle or leg, but probably not death. For most of the HT, anyway, T'Parief and Kreklor could probably have made the jump. On the other hand, as the pond and it's surrounding shores were the center of the village, they'd find themselves surrounded in seconds.  
The guard pointed out a pile of animal hides that could be used as blankets for the cot-like beds that lined the walls.  
"We will bring you food later," he said. He slid the weaved-bamboo-stuff door shut. T'Parief gestured at Jall, who immediately switched off the Universal Translator.  
"I think I've seen a movie about this sort of thing once," Simmons said immediately, "One of us has to seduce the pretty alien leader, then we trick her into making us one of her people just in time to betray them horribly in the end, right?"  
"No," Jall, T'Parief and Jeffery said at once.  
"Well, you could probably try seducing that Drep guy," Simmons said to Jall, trying to be accommodating, "Unless they like, chop off your hand as punishment for that kind of thing,"  
Jall just glared at him.  
"If anybody has to do some seducing, it'll be me," Stern said confidently.  
"Men," Yanick almost spat, "Always thinking you can get what you want with sex!"  
"Sex IS what we want,"  
"Silence, all of you," T'Parief said sharply. He was sitting near one of the openings/windows, looking out at the waterfall. Below them, Drep and Hylin were leading their people in a meeting, or group discussion of some kind. It wasn't quite Robert's Rules of Order, not the overly-structured but similar pattern used by the Matrian government, but it was still very, very civilized.  
"The time for battle has passed," he said, "For the moment."  
Dar'ugal made several signs, some of which were obviously explosions or impacts.  
"Yeah, I agree with Darg," Marsden said, "T'Parief claws the door open, we smack down the guards, get our phasers and get the smurf out of here,"  
"Pay attention when I speak," T'Parief grumbled angrily, "The time for battle has passed."  
"All those anger-management classes Stafford made you sit through are finally paying off, huh," Jall asked patting the lizard on the back. T'Parief swatted him away.  
"Just because I enjoy ripping an enemy to bloody shreds and feasting on his entrails doesn't mean I don't appreciate the need for information-gathering. And in case your interrogation-riddled brain has forgotten, the Matrians are our allies. Including these ones. Killing them would be dishonourable."  
Yanick had lain back on one of the beds, propping up her shoulders and head with a pile of hid blankets. The beds were almost like hammocks, simple animal hides suspended using straps, but these were tied tightly enough to the wooden frames that they were more like cots than hammocks. Something had happened right there, something that just made her feel…good. Not in the euphoric, 'OMG THIS IS AWSOME' kind of way, but in a deeper, more comfortable contentment.  
Part of it was that the success of their mission was finally sinking in. Their colleagues aboard Silverado had been freed and Jall had been rescued from the Qu'Eh. But what had really driven it home was the way T'Parief had brushed Jall and his unwelcome comment aside. It had been done not with a sense of distaste or anger, with a sense of familiarity. The closest analogue she could think of was during her childhood, when her mother had complained frequently about a spider that had made its home in her kitchen window. Every year, Samantha Yanick had complained about the pesky bug and the webs it would weave in the corners. Yet she'd never tried to kill it, and every spring she'd announce to Trish that 'My spider is back!' in that same combination of annoyance and pleasure that T'Parief's absent dismissal of Jall seemed to contain.  
After over a month of separation, their group was coming back together again. As she dozed off, Yanick dreamt that they were all back aboard Silverado, ready to set off for new adventures in the unknown.

As Yanick and Bhetti slept, T'Parief and Jeffery set the HT to observer different parts of the village from their vantage point. The two of them, along with Jall, were looking out at the pond and the waterfall. The sound of crashing water drowned out the voices of the Matrians below, but they could see easily that the meeting had ended and that preparations were being made for a very large meal, possibly even a feast.  
"Ye've been very co-operative," Jeffery commented to Jall, looking sideways at him.  
"I have no idea what you mean, carrot-top," Jall quipped.  
"Ah mean, ye haven't tried to take command back of the situation,"  
"Well, after that Qu'Eh thing, I really don't mind a bit of a vacation," Jall shrugged. He didn't want to admit that Jeffery and T'Parief were 100% right, he had no authority until he'd been subjected to a thorough examination following his time as a captive.  
"Simmons may be right," T'Parief mused, ignoring their conversation, "Jeffery, you may have to seduce one of the females."  
"Nay. Let Stern do it,"  
"Stern would mate with her, roll over and fall asleep before he could gather any useful information," T'Parief said, "Our priority is to find out who these people are and how we can get back to Haven,"  
"They're jungle-people," Jall shrugged, "Not exactly the norm on most developed planets, but not unheard of." He stretched out on the nearest bed. "Personally, I think they have a future in the vacation industry. Except for the racket from that damned waterfall."  
"So ye don't think it's strange that they're not bothered by the aliens in our group?" Jeffery asked sceptically, "Or the fact that we have a shiny little badge that let's as all speak the same language?"  
"They tried to kill us when they saw it," T'Parief grumbled, "They recognized it,"  
"You heard her," Jall shrugged, "They've had people stumble on their little village before. They interrogated 'em before they killed 'em. It's not unheard of for tribes like this to be aware of advanced technology or alien species."  
"True," T'Parief agreed, "But why kidnap us to begin with? We could wander through the jungle for weeks without finding this village. And why were they so concerned about the Gender Wars?"  
"The wars devastated whole cities," Jeffery mused, "Could be a few miles from here there's a big radioactive crater where their neighbours used to live,"  
The smell of cooking meats and vegetables was starting to waft up to their level of the village. Jall was frowning now too.  
"For the moment, I suggest we watch, listen and learn," Jall said, "As my fifth-grade teacher used to say,"  
"I agree," T'Parief nodded, "There will be a time to strike. But it is not now,"  
"Jeffery, why don't you take a snooze?" Jall suggested, "Spell us off in a couple of hours?"  
Jeffery looked suspiciously at the two of them, but gave no argument.  
As soon as they were alone, Jall turned to T'Parief.  
"You're hiding something, Lizard-man," he said quietly.  
"You are imagining things," T'Parief said sharply, "Perhaps the yellow centipedes are still stirring the table orange?"  
"Hey, who told you about that?"  
"You were speaking in your sleep before you regained consciousness,"  
"I'm fine," Jall shook his head, "And, like it or not, I know you well enough to know that there's more going on in your head than you sometimes want to admit!"  
"I am a predator," T'Parief replied, looking down at the Matrians. They were now laying out their evening meal, an atmosphere of good cheer permeating the group. "Part of being a predator is the kill. But before the kill, one must stalk the prey,"  
"That's a great way to tell me absolutely nothing," Jall said flatly, "Spit it out,"  
T'Parief looked around carefully, then considered.  
"All I have is a suspicion," he whispered, "If I am correct, than these people are far more dangerous than they look. And more important to our current situation than you'd expect,"  
"Um, OK. Then why…"  
"And if they find out we suspect what they are, we will be very, very dead,"  
"And what are they?"  
T'Parief told him. By the time he'd finished, Jall was gaping at him.  
"How did you-"  
"Silence."  
"But-"  
"Say nothing more. Think nothing more. Do nothing, for now. I have a plan." T'Parief said quietly, "We will speak with Jeffery later regarding the part he has to play, but of this conversation, speak to nobody,"  
"I must have been away for a long time," Jall mused, looking amazed, "The lizard had time to go and get smart!"

A few hours later, with the soft jungle-floor light just beginning to dim, Stern spoke up from his vantage point at one corner of the hut.  
"Somebody's coming up here with a pile of food," he said, "And she's hot!"  
"Oh thank ye, merciful God," Jeffery breathed.  
"I don't know if I can do this," Bhetti gulped.  
"Me neither," Jeffery agreed.  
"You'll do fine," Jall said, patting him on the shoulder.  
"Oh, like ye'd know,"  
The guard slid the door open and stepped in. Jall reactivated the translator.  
"Your meal has arrived," he said calmly, "Oh, and we've decided to put off deciding whether or not to kill you until tomorrow night. Tonight is for celebrating, and killing people tends to kill the mood,"  
"I think the mood's just fine," Bhetti said awkwardly, smiling at the guard and trying to look sexy.  
A Matrian woman with a tray of food stepped around the guard, walked into the hut and lay the tray down on the floor.  
"Thank ye so much," Jeffery said, looking right into her eyes, "We really appreciate your hospitality,"  
"You're welcome," the woman said.  
"And…um…your exquisite beauty,"  
She gave him an odd look.  
"You, uh, must work out," Bhetti was saying to the guard, "You look very fit. After all, that loin-cloth doesn't really hide much of anything. Um, I mean, it hides what it's supposed to hide, but-"  
"Ah'd love the chance to get to know ye a bit better," Jeffery said to the serving girl, "Any chance that could happen?"  
"This is pretty sad," Jall muttered to T'Parief.  
"Not likely," the serving girl said to Jeffery, standing and making her exit.  
"Yes," T'Parief agreed sadly, "These are indeed the most pathetic attempts at seduction I have ever seen,"  
"So much for Plan A," Jall sighed.  
"You're…not my type," the guard said to Bhetti, with a just a bit of hesitation in his voice. Jall's ears perked right up.  
"Then again…" he murmured. Then, louder, "Hey buddy, leave the door open. I'd love to hear more about live in this neat little village you guys have,"  
The guard didn't respond, but he didn't close the door either when he stepped out. Jall perched casually on the cot nearest the door and started chatting.  
"Ye've GOT to be kidding me," Jeffery said, a look of dismay on his face, "Bhetti and I both get shot down, and this…this…"  
"Do not speak of it," T'Parief said, his throat rattling like a 40 year-old Chevy.

The food was quite good, decently prepared and seasoned with more than a few interesting spices that probably came from sources that nobody on the away team wanted to consider too carefully. As night fell, the sounds of the jungle outside shifted as the daytime creatures retreated to their dens and the nocturnal ones came out. Jall was doing an excellent job of keeping the guard distracted as T'Parief deftly slipped out of the hut.  
He didn't jump, nor did he try sneaking past the guard at the main door. Instead, he leaned casually against the window frame, then slid around it, using his claws to hang from the outer wall of the hut. Too anybody looking from the outside, they would have seen his silhouette disappear from the window, but it should have looked like he'd simply moved off to one side. He'd shed his uniform and wore only a pair of undershorts, relying on his natural colouring to provide camouflage. The night air, warm and humid, felt good on his scaled hide. Careful not to move too quickly, he slid along the side of the hut, then slid down, hugging one of the supports that attached the hut floor to the nearby tree. He located one of the walkways that connected their hut to its closest neighbour, then carefully crossed it, hanging from beneath by all four limbs. He hoped that the Matrians would be used to having the local fauna skittering around their village and wouldn't notice the nearly undetectable sound of his claws digging for purchase.  
Finally, he reached the edge of the village and carefully slid down a thick tree to the ground. The Matrians were still celebrating, dancing to a rhythmic beat and waving flaming torches in the air. Jeffery had wanted him to wait until the Matrians were asleep before making his move, but T'Parief's tactical training knew better.  
"It takes, on average, 23 minutes for the average humanoid eye to fully adjust to low-light vision," T'Parief had pointed out, "If the Matrians are using torches and fires now, they will see nothing when they look into the jungle. Later, after their party is over, the fires are out and their night watch is on guard, their eyes will have time to adapt to the low light and I will be more easily spotted,"  
So far, his plan had paid off. Even as he approached the edge of the pond, hugging the cliff wall, the Matrians showed no sign that they could distinguish him from the clumps of mosses and lichens that grew on the damp rock. As he approached the water's edge, he found what he'd spotted from the hut: a smooth ledge of rock leading to the waterfall. A ledge that was just a bit too smooth to be natural.  
He'd been wondering why the Matrians had built their village around the waterfall, given the noise the thing generated. He personally would have built it a ways down the stream, ensuring access to fresh water while avoiding the noise. Also, if these Matrians wanted to remain hidden, building their village next to a natural wonder that was probably visible from the air seemed like a poor idea.  
Unless they needed to be near it.  
This thought had drawn his attention to the too-perfect ledge. The ledge that looked more like a narrow stone walkway.  
T'Parief crept closer to the waterfall, and was utterly unsurprised to find a cave directly behind it. He was equally unsurprised to find that the stone floor of the cave had been smoothened flat. And that that the stone floor sloped down to the waterfall, so that any water tossed into the cave would run out.  
He was also not surprised to find a broad door built into the back wall of the cave, complete with softly glowing light.

"He's behind the waterfall," Jeffery said quietly. He and the HT had crowded around the side of the hut furthest from the door, in the hopes of escaping any sounds that might be coming from Jall's…encounter…with the guard.  
"He's pretty good at this kinda thing," Yanick replied. She'd woken from her snooze feeling somewhat ill and was holding her extended stomach gingerly.  
"Aye," Jeffery agreed. He'd been staring at the rock wall to the one side of the waterfall since T'Parief had left. He'd barely seen the low shadow easing across it, and had to admit that T'Parief was probably right: the partying Matrians wouldn't notice a thing.  
"What does he think is back there, anyway?" Yanick wondered.  
"Doesn't matter," Stern replied, "If it was important for us to know, he would have told us,"  
"Unless he forgot," Simmons yawned, "Like that time he forgot to mention that Harka stunners cause two months of acne,"  
"There wasn't any reason for us to know that," Stern shrugged, "We weren't supposed to get shot on the mission to Harka,"  
"Are we ever?"  
"Hmm. Good point."  
Mardsen was also looking out the window, but he was paying more attention to the revellers than to the waterfall.  
"Where's the band?" he wondered.  
"What?"  
"I hear drums. I hear some other weird percussion-like things. But I don't see any drummers. Do you?"  
The away team looked around, moving to some of the other windows to get a better view.  
"No,"  
"I've heard that primitive Earth used to have something that could do this," Yanick said thoughtfully, "I think they called it an eye-pawed."  
"That sounds painful," Stern mused.  
"Ah'm pretty sure nobody that wore loin-cloths and lived in tree villages had music machines," Jeffery said.  
There was a sudden crash and Jall was propelled back into the room, followed by two guards. His uniform top was askew, but he was otherwise decent. The first guard was in a similar state, except that while Jall looked completely surprised, the guard looked furious.  
"Where's the lizard?" The second guard demanded, looking grim and determined…he must be the one that somehow noticed they were a prisoner short.  
"Um…stepped out to use the john?" Jeffery tried.  
"Unlikely,"  
More Matrians were running up the wooden stairway and climbing quickly up the rope ladders. One of them let out a war cry, one that was quickly echoed.  
"Guys, you remember how T'Parief said the fighting part was over?" Stern asked.  
"Yeah,"  
Stern snapped a long wooden rod off one of the walls, then spun it and slammed it into the side of the second guard's head. Kreklor tackled the first guard, knocking his spear to the side where it was picked up by Dar'ugal.  
"Forget about that. We're back to ass-kicking!"  
A Matrian poked his head through the window, just in time for Yanick to plant a boot firmly on his forehead, sending him sprawling onto the ground below. Two more rushed through the door, only to be met by fists, spear shafts and kicks.  
"You know, we can't keep this up for long," Stern said to Jall and Jeffery, "This is one of those times where the HT kicks ass until the senior officers figure out how to get us all out of this mess!"  
"Hey, I already did my part," Jall said, gesturing to the now-unconscious guard he'd been in the process of seducing.  
"Oh, aye. Ah can see that was such hard work for ye,"  
"It wasn't going to be fun anyway," Jall shot back.  
"And why's that?"  
Jall held up his thumb and forefinger about three inches apart.  
"Ye disgust me,"  
"GUYS!" Stern shouted, wincing as he rendered a female fighter unconscious, "Now would be a good time!"  
"I wish I'd never gotten involved in the rebellion!" Bhetti wailed, wringing her hands.  
"How do you think WE feel?" Jall asked, "We don't even LIVE in this sector!"  
Storms of primitive Matrians were now rushing the hut from all sides.  
"OK, that's it! We're boned!" Stern cried.  
Then the whole team dissolved in transporter sparkles.

The first think Jeffery saw when he opened his eyes (he hadn't even realized he'd squeezed them shut) was T'Parief standing behind a Matrian control panel.  
"Oh my GOD!" Jall exclaimed, "You are officially my favourite person! For at least the next five minutes anyway."  
"Yeah, good timing, sir," Stern agreed.  
"It's almost like you could sense that we were in terrible danger," Rengs nodded.  
T'Parief pointed at a screen mounted on one wall of what was undoubtedly a Matrian transporter room. The hexagonal display was divided into 6 areas, each one displaying a different video feed from different points in the village. One of them showed a group of very confused-looking Matrians standing in the middle of their former prison.  
"Oh,"  
T'Parief ran his hands over the panel again and the equipment they'd salvaged from the Qu'Eh runabout appeared on the pad.  
"We must move quickly," he said, "The Matrians will be here very soon." He turned and stepped through the doors, which swished open immediately, revealing an eerily familiar corridor.  
"Um…where's here?" Stern asked. He followed T'Parief out the door, then stopped in his tracks. The corridor was almost identical to the corridors in the outer rim of the Haven installation. The architecture was similar, but different enough to suggest that it had either been built by different designers, in a different time period, or both. But the curved walls, the twin rows of lighting panels and the inset lighting shining up at the wall panels were very similar to Haven. However, where Haven had a sort of smokey red pattern on the rim corridor panels, these ones were a blank grey.  
"We are in an underground Old Matrian military outpost," T'Parief said, "One established during the Gender Wars,"  
"How do ye know that?" Jeffery asked. They followed T'Parief as he strode down the corridor.  
"The Matrian villagers knew of the Gender Wars, but not that they had ended," T'Parief explained, "Their men are genetically advanced. If there were truly a primitive people, the men should have been like the un-altered men we found frozen in Haven,"  
"And you're assuming they knew about this place,"  
"Their ancestors built it," Jall said. They crowded into a lift that was close to but not quite the same design as the lifts in Haven.  
"Or they were stationed here, at least," T'Parief nodded.  
Jeffery looked between the two of them.  
"Ye knew?" he demanded, turning to Jall, "Ye BOTH knew?"  
"I…suspected," T'Parief said.  
"HOW?"  
T'Parief snagged one of the tricorders the team had recovered. Turning it on, he turned the display to Jeffery.  
"Familiar?" he inquired.  
Jeffery looked at the readout. There were a few intermittent readings, but for the most part, the tricorder was unusable.  
"And our comm-badges didn't work either, just like in Haven" Jeffery realized, "The only ones that did…"  
"Was the Old Matrian ones that had been designed to function within the interference field generated by Haven," T'Parief said, "The same as the Old Matrian comm-badge."  
"There's another interference field over the village? And this base?"  
"Over this entire island," T'Parief nodded.  
Jeffery was about to ask how he knew they were on an island when the doors hissed open, revealing a command complex nearly identical to the one perched atop Haven's command tower.  
"Holy shit," Stern observed.

The complex wasn't exactly the same as Haven. The fancy red & black paneling had been replaced with a simple blue motif, and the snazzy railings had been replaced by ones that were simply functional. The floors were bare metal and only one lift came up through the floor. But the basic design of a lower level with the lift, a second, ring-shaped level with double-high display panels and a third, circular command level with consoles and a holo-table was the same. The windows in the ceiling were gone, replaced by paneled metal, and only three windows looked down in a 180 degree arc. The ceiling had split in the 'back', the side of the complex that didn't have windows looking down, and a mix of sand, gravel and clay had spilled in. There was water damage on some of the equipment on that side as well.  
"I haven't been here long enough to learn much about this place," T'Parief said, "But what I know is this: It is a military base, much smaller than Haven and built afterward." He gave them a significant look.  
"It is also unlocked. Marsden, you will access logs. Jeffery, you will assess the technology. Jall, you will attempt to find an escape. The rest of you will guard the lift for the inevitable counter-attack,"  
"What about me?" Yanick asked.  
"You can help me, Trish," Jall said, taking her gently by the arm.  
Everybody jumped into action. Jeffery dropped himself into a seat facing a now-familiar Old Matrian control pulpit. Unlike the ones in Haven, this one was fully active. The panels near his hands were lit with dozens of candy-coloured buttons, arranged in groups of three. The exception was the small center panel, which seemed to hold a touch pad. The wide, hexagonal display was divided into four smaller screens on the sides, a wide, split screen in the center and two wider screens towards the top and bottom. Text was scrolling up two of the screens, but Jeffery couldn't read the Matrian script.  
Jeffery thought for a moment. His tricorder was unreliable in the interference field. So how could he turn the gibbery Matrian script into something usable?"  
"Mr. Jeffery, didn't we upload a translation matrix into the Matrian Defence HQ computers?" Marsden asked.  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "Standard procedure for a new member planet,"  
"Do you think this place has the same kind of data connection as Haven?"  
Jeffery thought carefully. He knew Haven had a secure, encrypted and un-traceable connection to MDHQ computers. He figured it had been set up centuries ago, when the place was constructed, to handle standard data transmission requirements and had been forgotten about during the Gender Wars and the Dark Age. If Haven had that kind of connection, there was no reason to believe this place didn't. In fact, it might have other things that Haven had…  
Jeffery ran his hand over the underside of one panel, right over the spot that Craigan had explained as containing the security DNA reader. There was a momentary pause, then the display switched to Federation Standard.  
Authorization granted. Welcome, Lt. Commander Jeffery  
"Gotta love a well-programmed authentication system," Jeffery called, "The place is using our security profiles from the MDHQ computers."  
"Enough techno-babble," T'Parief said, "Get to work."  
A couple moments passed where nothing could be heard but the beeping of buttons.  
"I'm sealing off as many security doors as I can," Jall said, "The place isn't very big. 10 levels, a main entrance hidden in the jungle about 500 meters from here, then the back door behind the waterfall. There's some kind of access tunnel, but I'm not sure what's it's for,"  
"Ah know," Jeffery said, staring at the screen. He tapped a button.  
"T'Parief, you need to look at this," he said.  
There was a humming, then banks of lights came to life outside the three big windows. Jeffery and T'Parief rushed down the stairs to the lower level, then looked out.  
"Definitely a military base," Jeffery said.  
They were looking out in a small cavern. It was tiny compared to most of the ones they'd found on Matria Prime so far. It was orders of magnitude smaller than the caverns under the major cities, tiny even compared to Fifebee's estimates of the cavern surrounding Haven's center island. It was perhaps ten levels high, about the same as of one of Haven's docking bays. It was wider, however, and filled with water. A half-submerged tunnel led off into the distance, and several docks hugged the walls and extended out into the water. At each dock was the gleaming hull of a submarine.  
"Military subs," Jeffery said, "According to the specs in the computer, they're armed with programmable-yield antimatter warheads on inter-continental missiles."  
"Hey, I think that access tunnel I was talking about leads to the ocean," Jall called down from above.  
"We know, ye git!" Jeffery called back.  
"Well pardon me for trying to help!"  
Marsden had come down to join them.  
"From what I can tell in the logs, this place was built about 30 years after the attack on Matronus," he said, giving his report, "It was-"  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks as no less than 50 armed Matrian primitives materialized around the command center.  
"Uh oh," Jeffery muttered, holding up his hands in surrender.  
Leader Hylin stepped out from the crowd.  
"Now we have little choice but to kill you," she said.  
"AUTO-DESTRUCT IN TWO MINUTES" the computer announced.  
Hylin looked around in surprise.  
"Hey, T'Parief," Jall called, "Guess what I found?"

"Here we go again," Jeffery muttered. Marsden just held his hands up, looking somewhat terrified as one of the Matrians held a spear to his neck.  
"Kill us, and your base is destroyed," T'Parief said, immediately taking charge of the situation.  
Hylin shot a look at one of her people. He pulled a padd-sized device and tapped. One of the double-high displays came to life, showing the destruct countdown.  
"How did you get access?" she demanded.  
"When the Matrian government joined the Federation, Starfleet officers serving in this sector were added to the security database, "Jeffery said.  
"We are not your enemies," T'Parief said.  
"You invade our island," Drep accused, "You attack our people. You break into our greatest secret and you threaten to destroy it,"  
"And you expect us to believe that now is not the time to fight?" Hylin snapped.  
"It is the time to fight," T'Parief said calmly, "But we are not the enemy,"  
"AUTO-DESTRUCT IN ONE MINUTE."  
"You world is under siege," T'Parief said, "But the time to strike back is coming soon."  
"AUTO-DESTRUCT IN 40 SECONDS."  
"What are your terms?" Hylin demanded.  
"We want to talk," Jeffery said, "Really!"  
"There are eleven of us," T'Parief said, "All but eleven of your people leave. We all lower our weapons. Jall turns off the auto-destruct, and we will discuss the situation,"  
"AUTO-DESTRUCT IN-"  
Hylin barked a word in Matrian. With a shimmer, most of her people vanished in transporter beams.  
Jall tapped in the cancellation code.  
The two groups stared at each other for a moment.  
"You came here during the Gender Wars," T'Parief said. It wasn't a question.  
"Our ancestors did," Hylin said. She sighed. "They were stationed here about 30 years into the wars. The base here was built to extend the Council of Mistresses' ability to strike against the Coalition of Five,"  
"The WHO?" Jeffery demanded.  
"The Coalition of Five," Hylin looked confused, "the governing body for the eastern continent,"  
"We thought the Matrian Empire had a unified planetary government," Marsden blinked.  
"It did…at the start of the war," Drep said, "As the war went on, old nation-states split off and went their own way,"  
"Why?"  
"You claim to be allies of Matria, but you know nothing of our history?" Hylin demanded.  
"Ohhh, that's a long story," Jall groaned from the level above them. He quickly explained the issues with Mistress Laurette's tampering with the Matrian library database during the Dark Age.  
"Your ancestors were stationed here," T'Parief said, trying to bring the conversation back to his interests, "Were they never deployed?"  
"They were ordered to attack one of the Coalition nation-states with an antimatter missile barrage," Hylin said, "They refused,"  
"Why?"  
"The war had been running for thirty years!" Drep shook his head, "Our world had broken into dozens of states, each with their own ideas about how the new men and the women should fit together in society,"  
"You do know about the altered men, right?" Hylin raised an eyebrow.  
"Oh yeah,"  
"Our ancestors decided to go their own way," Drep went on, "They were on an island, protected by the base's stealth field. They decided to return to an earlier way of living, an earlier stage in Matrian development, and to see what kind of society would develop given the changes in the male gender."  
"And they didn't worry that the Council of Mistresses would come looking for them?"  
"They adjusted the remote sensors so that to the Central Command, the island appeared to have been decimated by a biological attack."  
"Ohhh, clever,"  
"And ye've been hidin' here ever since," Jeffery finished.  
"We have passed on our knowledge and our technology," Hylin said, "We are a civilized people,"  
"You've gotta admit, they've got a nice little paradise going on down here," Jall said.  
Jeffery, T'Parief and Jall quickly outlined the recent history of Matria Prime, explaining how the women (the Council of Mistresses?) had won the war using the M-SID technology, how the women had gone into stasis and lived their lives in the virtual Dreamland while the men worked to rebuild their world. They spoke of the Matrian attempt to gain power over the sector, about the M-SIDS they sent off to find the 'perfect/perfectly controllable' male (Jeffery blushed a bit here) and how Silverado had woken the women from their sleep. They talked about the Qu'Eh invasion, the fall of Matria Prime, and the underground installation they'd been hiding in for the past several weeks.  
"Ye don't happen to know anything about that place, do ye?" Jeffery asked.  
"We do not. But it may be in the records," Drep said.  
"We have discussed much," Hylin said, "But what you haven't told us is what it is you want from us,"  
"We want to get back to Haven," Jeffery said, "There's a rebellion goin' on, a relief fleet on the way and a hell of a lot of work to do!"  
T'Parief was looking out into the cavern.  
"And your submarines would be useful,"  
"Whot? How?" Jeffery demanded, "Ye cannae take out a space-goin' fleet with a few antimatter missiles!"  
"No, we can't," T'Parief nodded, "But imagine the Qu'Eh surprise if, while fighting the Federation fleet-"  
"They suddenly had a surface-launched warhead crammed up their tailpipes!" Jall said gleefully.  
Hylin and Drep were speaking back and forth in soft tones. After a few minutes, they turned to the Starfleet officers.  
"Our people rarely come into the base," Hylin said, "We have little reason to. But we do know how to operate its technology. Give us access to the records in the Central Command,"  
"It's Matrian Defence HQ now," Jall said helpfully.  
"And if we can corroborate your story, we will help you," Hylin finished.  
"You don't have access yourselves?"  
"Our ancestors gave us control over everything in this base," she said, "But they could not grant us access to the external data-net."  
"Which we just happen to have," Jeffery said.  
"Convenient," T'Parief grumbled.

Two days later, Yanick was piloting one of the Matrian submarines through the underwater access tunnel.  
"So, that trip wasn't exactly a waste, was it?" Jall said cheerfully. He was fully recovered from his time with the Qu'Eh, as was Bhetti. Yanick was uncomfortable, but hadn't grown any worse and Jeffery's planters wart had finally fallen off.  
"You are sure the Qu'Eh will not detect this sub?" T'Parief demanded.  
"Aye," Jeffery said, "Ah doubt they're even lookin' underwater. And if they are, the SR generator we salvaged should keep us hidden,"  
"We will have to send a team back here to outfit the other subs," Jall said.  
"And to see if we can get communications going over this 'data-net' they mentioned,"  
"Probably the same network Haven's plugged in to," Jeffery shrugged, "An old, classified military network that was forgotten about durin' the war. Or after."  
"No more techno-babble, please," Stern groaned.  
On the display screen at the front of the sub's control room, the computer-generated image showed the tunnel walls falling away as the sub slipped into the warm ocean.  
"So…" Yanick wondered, "Anybody know which way to the Evendra Desert?"  
Jall, Jeffery and Stern exchanged a confused look.  
"You mean, none of us brought a map?" Stern asked.  
"Uh-oh," Jeffery muttered.  
T'Parief just grumbled.

End

Next: The Jall, Jeffery and the HT are rushing back to Haven with the hope that Wowryk had puzzle out Yanick's mysterious illnesss. But the crew in Haven have their own problems, in the form of an M-SID and two comatose Old Matrians. What else will they find lurking in the classified levels of Haven?


	13. Unprofessional Development

Star Traks: Silverado

5.13 – Unprofessional Development

Matrian Installation 317-B

Around 200 years ago:

"Status on the lockdown?" Colonel Myress Abela, Construction Commander for Installation 317, asked. She had just stepped out of a command tower turbolift and into the gleaming turbolift lobby. Her command override could have taken the turbolift into the horizontal shafts connecting the central island towers beneath the Travel Ring, however she was in the mood to walk. The entire installation was being buried, possibly forever, and she might never again have the chance to walk through its hallways. She'd been joined by Sub-Commander Denisal Brekan as she walked towards Tower 3 and its corresponding staircase down into the Travel Ring.  
"Sand cover is 100% at a depth of one standard measurement, 80% at two and 55% at three." Brekan replied, reading from a portable data device.  
"That's easily enough to keep us hidden," Abela sighed, "And the main chamber?"  
"Fully shut down. We've finished replacing the atmosphere with preservative gasses. It's going to take a while before the oxygen dissolved in the lake is fully removed, but the automated systems can handle that after we leave,"  
"Good," Abela nodded. She'd reached one of the six major staircases leading down to the tram level and was almost jogging down them, her hand sliding along the smooth, wooden railing. As she reached the lower levels she noticed a pair of technicians activating the high-security locks on the double blast doors leading out of the Travel Ring facility and into one of the Atriums. She turned down a corridor, intent on the nondescript door that would lead down into the high-security levels.  
"Colonel, if I may ask, where are you going?" Brekan asked.  
"To interrogate our new prisoner, of course," Abelda replied.  
"But…our orders are just to hold him until the Council decides-"  
"The council is going to execute the rebels," Abela waved a hand, "With the death toll from destroying Matronus? They're simply going to wipe them all out."  
"They why are you talking to this prisoner, this," Brekan looked at her padd, "Craigan?"  
"Because," Abela said thoughtfully, "There are two sides to any story. And something about the Council's side is…bothering me."  
She reached the discreet passage into the high-security levels.

An hour later, Abela returned to the Command Center. He mouth was tightly drawn, worry-lines creased her forehead and she moved almost angrily as she mounted the steps to the upper level.  
"Learn anything useful?" Brekan asked carefully.  
"Useful? Perhaps not," Abela replied tightly, "Interesting? Most definitely,"  
"What did he say?"  
"We can discuss that later, on the way out. But before that, we may have to make a change or two to the Council's plan regarding this place."

Years Later:

Colonel Myress Abela walked slowly through the empty hallways of Installation 317-B. The lights were dim and the sounds of the air recirculation systems at low power were almost undetectable.  
Four long years had passed since the Matrian Council of Mistresses had ordered her to lock down, bury, seal and otherwise hide the huge base that she'd spent the better part of a decade constructing. The order had come immediately after a male terrorist attack had destroyed an orbital city, Matronus. At the time, the speed at which the council had reacted to the devastating attack, along with the convenient coincidence that none of the 300+ member assembly had suffered so much as a scratch, had raised more than a few suspicious in Abela's mind. Now, after 4 years of civil war between the female-controlled central government and the pro-male 'terrorist' districts, or Male Rebellion as they liked to put it, her suspicious had taken solid root.  
Outwardly, she kept her appearance stoic as she disembarked the transit tram she'd unlocked for her uses. Getting into the installation hadn't been hard; after all it had been shut down with the intent that the government would be able to reactivate it fairly easily. Still, as much as she would have loved to charge up to the command complex and hit the 'ON' switch, circumstances had changed. As she stepped across the boarding platform in the Travel Ring and entered the nearest stairway, she had a sudden moment of recollection.  
"People can't live here for any length of time if it looks like a prison!" Swar, one of her male designers had declared loudly (and sassily), "We need a bit of STYLE!" he'd said, unveiling his design for a curving, multilevel stairway with broad windows looking out in to what was expected to be the bustle and activity of the installations central travel hub. At the time, she'd rolled her eyes and wondered just who the hell had put a man on the design committee, even if he was one of the genetically advanced men. Now, as the dim lighting shifted over the red patterned railings, she had to admit that it looked a hell of a lot nicer than the more utilitarian design they'd kept for the smaller, inner ring stairways.  
Coming to the top of the stairway, Abela slowed. She had originally intended to stay strictly to her path, rushing through the lobby of this tower and into the long, column-lined path that would take her to the central tower lobby and the turbolift she needed. But as she turned past from the huge, dark windows looking out into the main chamber her eye had been caught by something…some small glint of light coming from deep in the artificial cavern. She slowly walked towards the window, allowing her hand to come to rest on the railing. Somebody had left a light on, way out near the outer rim from the looks of it. Probably in the seemingly endless rows of living quarters that lined the inner surface of the installations ring-shaped outer facilities. Abela's hands had grown tight on the railing, and her mouth had drawn into a grim line. So much work. So much promise. Such…hope…  
And all of it was being wasted.  
Turning angrily away, she stalked towards the central tower.

The lab was unchanged.  
The moment the central complex of Installation 317-B had been completed, the Matrian Intelligence Assembly had started quietly shunting top-secret, hush-hush programs into what was after all one of the most advanced facilities on the planet. And one of the most carefully hidden. Abela shuddered to think of some of the work that had been done in this lab, with its banks of gene re-sequencers, bio-analysis computers and stasis tubes. Tapping on a control panel, Abela quickly found what she was looking for.  
At the far end of the lab a curved door slid open, revealing what looked like a small turbolift shaft. It wasn't an elevator that came up from the depths however. It was a stasis tube. The tube, its life-support equipment still connected to the facility computer and power supply through the guide tracks, slid across the lab until it came to a rest near the central bio-scanner assembly. Another popped up right behind it and likewise began to maneouver into position in the lab. Than another…and other…  
"What the…" Abela frowned. She'd requested one tube, but the computer informed her she was getting 13. Stupid thing. The MIA technicians had been complaining for months prior to the lock-down that some of the systems in the lab were a bit touchy, but she'd dismissed them as being 'whiney cry-babies'. A small note, hand-written by one of those long-departed techs, warned her that the installations camouflage fields had been causing problems with the stasis equipment, and that unusual fluctuations in the local energy fields could cause accidental re-vivification. Crumbling the note in one hand, Abela approached the first tube.  
"Hello, Craigan," she said softly to herself, "We need to talk,"

90 Years Ago:

Myress Abela grunted slightly as slowly made her way across the lab to Craigan's stasis tube. She'd dropped the 'Colonel' part of her identity decades ago, exchanging it for a new set of wrinkles a new shade of grey in her hair. The cane she gripped with one hand wasn't entirely necessary; she kept it more as an insurance policy than anything else. But she couldn't deny that she'd aged a great deal.  
Of course, she was doing pretty good for a woman of 140. Especially considering that the only medical care she'd had access to in the past century was only that which she could administer herself. Spending years at a time in stasis had helped, but these past two decades had been impossible to ignore. She'd spent them, for the most part, tucked away in the installation's cavernous Signal Analysis room. With secure, untraceable connections to the Matrian Defence network, and from there to orbital sensors, communications, records, and etc, she was perfectly positioned to observe every nuance of the collapse of her people's civilization.  
She looked up at Craigan's face, stiff and unmoving in the stasis tube.  
"Goodbye, Craigan," she croaked, her voice cracked with age and disuse.

The return to Signal Analysis seemed endless, even though she used her command authorization to take the turbolift all the way down into the classified levels. She could have gotten one of the construction bots to assist her, she mused, or even activated one of the domestic bots. But regardless of how well the installation was hidden, she was loath to leave any more sign of her presence than was necessary.  
Besides, if what she was about to attempt worked, it wouldn't matter.  
She shuffled thought the security airlock and into the high-ceilinged room. Her gaze flickered over the huge display screens more from habit than anything else. She didn't need to look closer; she knew what they'd show. The same thing they'd shown for 10 years now. Males tearing down damaged buildings, laying foundations for new construction, re-establishing farmland that had been abandoned in favour of the more well-defended cities.  
It all looked so peaceful, as if her people really had ended their conflict.  
She approached the spidery, cylindrical device that she had smuggled out of one of the cities 10 years ago, when they'd first been deployed across the planet. The Council of Mistresses were calling it a 'Dream Machine', but in Abela's mind it was nothing less than demonic mind control. These devices were the main reason why she, and the installation, had remained hidden.  
Still, if what she'd learned was correct, this particular Dream Machine might be the key to her future.  
Or to her death.  
Glancing only briefly at the body in the stasis tube next to the device, Abela started tapping at the control panel.

Present Day:

Over an hour had passed since Craigan's ill-fated lunge into the Signal Analysis chamber. The Matrian was still sprawled out on the floor where he'd first fallen, a small puddle of drool forming on the floor near his face. Lt. Riven Valtaic had originally taken it for blood until it had pooled over one of the light panels inset in the floor. Captain/Minister of Planetary Defence Christopher Stafford was pacing back and forth nearby, nearly pulling his hair out of his head. Both Lt. Cmdr. Jane Fifebee and Dr. Noel Wowryk were standing nearby, tapping at a tricorder and a medical tricorder respectively.  
"I'm not getting any change in his condition," Wowryk reported, shaking her head, "Whatever's happening in there, it doesn't seem to be stressful enough to increase his heart rate or give any other biological signals,"  
"Or it just turned him into a vegetable," Stafford said, "Our only source of information on this place might have just had his brain turned into a Bolian zucchini!"  
"I have never sampled zucchini," Valtaic said, "On what premise do you presume it to be more or less intelligent than any other gourd?"  
"It's an expression, Mr. Valtaic," Sylvia said, "Another social irrelevancy,"  
"I was curious," Valtaic said, matter-of-fact.  
"My uncle claims zucchini was invented in the basement of a crazy Italian," Stafford mused, gazing into the Signal Analysis room.  
"Highly unlikely," Fifebee sniffed.  
Stafford was looking at what few big screens were visible from his vantage point. He could see orbital sensor readouts, a satellite position map and even a very detailed image of the capitol city of J'Taeri District.  
"We need to shut that thing down so we can get into that room," Stafford said, "Look at all the information in there!"  
"We can't shut it down until we've gotten Craigan out," Wowryk said firmly, "And determined the state of…of that," She gestured at the clone body lying in the stasis tube next to the M-SID.  
Stafford pointed at the mummified corpse on the floor.  
"I think we know the status, thanks,"  
"Not at all," Fifebee said, "Is it not painfully obvious what she was attempting?"  
"Not painfully, no,"  
"Craigan told us Abela was becoming very old during their last meetings," Fifebee said.  
"We all do that. It's called 'aging',"  
"Obviously, she was attempting to transfer her consciousness into a clone body to prolong her life," Fifebee said.  
Stafford's eyes widened. Even Valtaic looked surprised.  
"Is such a thing possible?" Valtaic asked.  
"Several Silverado crewmembers suffered body-swaps due to an accident involving an M-SID on our first mission to Matrian Space," Fifebee explained, "It is entirely possible. However, I do not believe Colonel Abela was successful,"  
"Why not?" Stafford asked.  
"First, Craigan received no visits from her in the past century," Fifebee said, "And second," she pointed at the mummified corpse.  
"Who wouldn't even bother to dispose of their own corpse," Stafford finished.  
"If she's dead, the key to activating Haven may have died with her," Valtaic pointed out.  
"Which is why we need to know what's going on before we shut down the M-SID," Wowryk said, "As I told you at the beginning of this conversation,"  
"So we need somebody to go in, assuming the M-SID is generating a virtual reality, and figure that out," Stafford said.  
"Yes," Wowryk said. She clipped her tricorder back to her belt, "I'm ready,"  
"Ready?" Stafford lifted an eyebrow.  
Wowryk started walking towards the M-SID field.  
"No, no, NO!" Stafford said, getting in her path, "Bad idea! Very bad idea, Noel!"  
"Why?" Wowryk shrugged off his grip, "Aren't I best suited for this? I have, on two occasions, taken control of the realities these abominations create. I helped most of our crew, including yourself, return to their own bodies. I'm perfect for this,"  
"You're also working with Jural and Laheya to run the rebellion!" Stafford objected.  
"They hardly need me at this point," Wowryk said calmly, "Craigan does,"  
"But-"  
Be-DEEEP!  
"Bith to Stafford,"  
Stafford tapped his comm-badge.  
"Stafford here,"  
"Sir, we just received a coded transmission from Lieutenant Pye," Bith reported, "He was making a scheduled pickup of Mistress Laheya following a briefing of several rebel leaders."  
"Good for him. Is there anything else?"  
"Sir, he says the Hazardous Team showed up and politely requested a lift back to Haven,"  
"Great! Granted! Tell him to get those guys back here!"  
"He's already on his way, sir," Bith reported.  
"Perfect. Stafford out,"  
He turned to the others.  
"Fifebee, Wowryk, keep studying that thing, but keep your distance! Don't do anything until I get back! Valtaic, you're with me,"  
He turned and started walking briskly towards the stairs to the upper levels.  
Wowryk looked back at Craigan, her face filling with concern.  
"Don't worry," Fifebee said, "We have at least three days before he dies of thirst."  
The words may have been meant in the spirit of comfort, but Wowryk didn't find them comforting. Not one bit.  
Sylvia was still standing quietly in the corridor. Unlike Wowryk and Fifebee, her attention wasn't focused on the interior of the Signal Analysis room. Instead, she was watching Wowryk very carefully. She saw the look of concern on her face. Saw it slowly shift from concern to determination.  
And so, another hour later, Sylvia was completely unsurprised when Wowryk abruptly stepped into the field and collapsed to the floor.

Stafford was met by Queen Anselia as he waited for a tram to the outer rim and the entrance hanger.  
"Agent Jural has briefed us on the situation," she said, "And we have consulted the Council,"  
"About that," Stafford sighed. Here we go. Politics time. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you down there sooner. It's a strange situation,"  
"We agree," Anselia said as they boarded the tram. She paused for a moment, "We understand that Craigan was left here to judge us. Not individually, but as a group. He judged the team we have formed, and found it worthy,"  
"That about sums it up," Stafford said, "If he weren't stuck in a Matrian Dreamland, we could ask him for more details."  
"Do you have a plan to resolve that situation?" Anselia asked.  
Stafford was a bit taken aback at the sudden respect Anselia was showing.  
"We're still working on that one," he said, "But with the rest of our team getting back, I think we'll figure something out,"  
"Good," Anselia was quiet for a moment.  
"The Council has agreed that your team should have strong authority in this matter," she said finally, "Your crew, Agent Jural, Mistress Laheya. With consultation from myself and King Hektor, of course,"  
"That's…surprisingly generous of them," Stafford said neutrally.  
"As when the Qu'Eh invaded, we find you are the best people for the job. And you have previous experience with our Dream Machines as well."  
Something about hearing those words to describe his crew both filled Stafford with pride, while simultaneously filling him with utter terror. For about the fiftieth time since entering Matrian Space, he wondered how a proper ship like the Enterprise would have handled things.  
He dropped the political-politeness crap.  
"Why are they suddenly trusting us again?" he demanded, "After all the bickering we've had down here, why now?"  
"First, Christopher, what you call 'bickering', the Council calls 'negotiation'. Your people have shown great willingness to work with us, dissuading fears that it was power you wanted,"  
"And second?"  
Anselia paused again, trying to figure out just how to say it.  
"You've been judged by an Old Matrian," she said finally, "Remember, Christopher, our people are very concerned with our history. Our ancestors are revered, even though they've made some horrible, horrible mistakes. They may have brought our civilization to the brink of ruin, but it was they who built it from the ground up. And one of them, the one chosen to determine who may or may not attempt to activate Haven, has looked at our team and determined us to be worthy. That carries great weight with the Council,"  
"I'm glad to hear that," Stafford said sincerely, "Because, honestly? I don't think we're going to have a lot of time for 'compromise' in the near future,"  
Anselia looked slightly worried.  
"Not because we're unwilling," Stafford assured her, "But because I think we're getting close to the end of this situation and time is going to be very short."  
"How can you know this?"  
"I don't know. It's just a feeling."

Agent Jural of the Matrian Intelligence Team had lost track of how much time he'd spent in Haven's entrance hanger, waiting for somebody to return, watching somebody depart or discussing rebel matters. He wondered, not for the first time, why the Old Matrians hadn't built a nice, comfortable lounge for people to relax in while they waited. Of course, for all he knew, the wall behind him could slide down to reveal a fully stocked martini bar, but he tended to doubt that was the case. No, more likely one of the empty rooms in the general area was an incomplete lounge, just waiting for somebody with a flair for entertaining to convert it.  
"Maybe I'll do that after this mess is over," Jural muttered to himself.  
"Do what?" one of the Starfleeters, Pye, asked politely.  
"Nothing," Jural replied, watching one massive hanger door panel swing ponderously outward. In the distance, he could see a small scout ship on a direct course. It quickly grew bigger, slowing as it approached the hanger and easing in for a gentle landing on the lower level.  
Down below, Stafford and Anselia were walking out to greet whoever it was. Jural saw Laheya exit behind several Starfleet officers and moved towards the stairs.

"T'Parief!" Stafford called amicably as the green security chief stepped out of the small ship, "We saw P'tarek's ship explode from here! Well done!"  
"Aw man!" Simmons jumped out, "I was awesome! Like, BAM! Ka-POW! We totally rock!"  
"We have a surprise for you, sir," T'Parief said calmly.  
"You got Jall back?"  
"He'll be out in a moment. But even better!"  
Stern stepped forward and handed Stafford several small computer chips.  
"What are these?" he asked.  
"The command keys to your new missile submarine fleet," Stern shrugged.  
Stafford's eyes bulged.  
"REALLY?"  
"Really. Oh, but one of them is parked off the coast about a thousand miles from here," Stern said.  
"We have a lot to report," now it was Jeffery that spoke up, "We found us some new allies on top o' that little gift,"  
"Great work, everybody," Stafford said, shaking his head in amazement. Next to him, Anselia has started saying something about 'great valour' and 'contribution to the Matrian struggle', but Stafford had stopped paying attention when he saw Jall walking out of the ship.  
"Commander Jall," Stafford said, "I'm honestly glad to see you. I'm glad you're safe,"  
Jall walked up to Stafford, threw a right hook that sent the Captain sprawling to the floor, then winced and rubbed his wrist.  
Everybody was staring at him.  
"What?" he shrugged, "I was in captivity for a month before he sent a rescue party. It seemed like the right thing to do,"  
Even Ansleia's jaw had dropped.  
"Where can I get a shower?" Jall asked politely.  
"I'll show you," Lieutenant Yanick said, twirling one finger nervously in her long blond hair as she stepped up next to him. He other hand was resting on her swollen belly, "But I don't think you should have done that,"  
"Why? Is he going to try to hurt me?" Jall wondered.  
"No, I don't think so. He's just going to be… very pissed," Yanick winced, her other hand coming to her stomach.  
"Oh, sweetie, we need to get you checked out," Jall said. T'Parief, seeing the situation, tapped his comm-badge.  
"T'Parief to Wowryk, we have an urgent medical situation in the hanger bay," he said.  
No reply.  
"Is she off on one of those rebel mission things?" Jeffery asked. Next to him, Jural turned away from the discussion he was having with Laheya.  
"No, she should be here," he said.  
T'Parief tried again.  
This time Sylvia replied.  
"Boys," she said, "We've got a problem."

It was, Stafford reflected, the closest thing he'd had to a proper staff meeting since the Qu'Eh invasion.  
They'd commandeered a large round room on the upper level of the Transit Hub and had moved in a table and several chairs. One curved wall was transparent, looking into the cavernous ring of the Hub. Install some replicators in the empty sockets along the one wall, add proper furnishings, some art and the place would be a decent or even upscale conference room, Jall mused. Or a nice coffee shop. It was certainly big enough.  
Stafford sat at the head of the table, holding a cold compress against his jaw. To his left sat Jeffery, T'Parief and Valtaic. To his right was Fifebee, Sylvia and Yanick. Jall sat directly across from him, massaging his right wrist. Only Wowryk was missing.  
They'd already brought each other up to speed on recent events, following an enthusiastic reunion. Mostly enthusiastic. Jall and Stafford were eyeing each other like two angry dogs. Yanick kept massaging her stomach and had remained seated. And of course, Fifebee rarely shows much enthusiasm anyway. Anselia had asked several pointed questions about the tribe of 'primative' Matrians Jeffery's team had found than ran off to brief the Council.  
"We'll call this one a freebie," Stafford had finally said to Jall, working his jaw.  
"OK," Jall shrugged, "You've got a really hard face, by the way,"  
"Thanks,"  
Now, it was time to get to work.  
"Situation:" Valtaic said, eager to get things moving, "Craigan and now Dr. Wowryk are trapped in a Matrian Dreamland. Colonel Abela may or may not be present as well."  
"Why hasn't Dr. Wowryk already come back?" Jall asked, "I mean, she does have a habit of turning into a total queen around these things. Heh heh…"  
Stafford rolled his eyes at the lame joke, but was also reminded of why he'd promoted that obnoxious jackass to begin with. He made a really good point.  
"Dr. Wowryk has assumed the role of controlling entity in the past, when under the influence of an M-SID," Fifebee said, "However, I find it likely that Abela has already, at least in part, taken on that role."  
"In part?" Jeffery asked.  
"If she had full control, she would have visited Craigan sometime in the past hundred years," Fifebee said.  
"And I'm guessing turning the thing off would be too easy?" Jeffery crossed his arms.  
"It would be very dangerous," Fifebee said, "And is counter-indicated by the operating manual,"  
"We have an operating manual?" Stafford looked up from where he'd been rubbing his jaw.  
"No. That was simply AI humour,"  
"Oh,"  
"Can we pull them out of the field?" T'Parief asked.  
"Again, not a good idea," Fifebee said, "In addition, I attempted to reach the M-SID itself, to see if I could access its control systems manually. However, the combined interference of the M-SID and Haven's stealth field destabilized my imaging system."  
"So we're going in," Jall shrugged, "We've done it before,"  
"There's no rush," Stafford shot back, "We've got a couple days before things start getting really dangerous for them, right?"  
"I think…" Yanick gulped, "I think I'm going to need Noel before that…"  
"What?"  
T'Parief was out of his chair in a flash as Yanick cried out, clutching her belly. Stafford and Jall were right behind him, demanded to know what was happening. Finally, Sylvia grabbed the two of them by the ears and pulled them away while Fifebee knelt over Yanick.  
"Stay out of the way, you two!" Sylvia snapped.  
"She's having a contraction!" Fifebee reported.  
"But she's-" Stafford started.  
"-not pregnant! Jall finished.  
"I know! She's having one anyway!"  
Fifebee tapped at her tricorder for another moment.  
"It is no use. I don't have the programming for this. We need Dr. Wowryk!"  
"Serves me right for saying things weren't urgent," Stafford groaned.  
At that moment, his comm-badge beeped.  
"Stafford here,"  
"Sir!" Pye's voice came, "We've got ships dropping out of warp! Orbital sensors just picked them up!"  
"The Federation fleet?"  
Pye was quiet for a moment.  
"Guess again,"  
"Senousians?" Jall guessed.  
"No sir," Pye said, "They look more like Qu'Eh troop transports to me. Enough to carry, oh I don't know…maybe a fifty thousand or so troops."  
Stafford and Jall exchanged a glance.  
"From bad to worse, huh?" Jall said merrily, clapping Stafford on the shoulder.

Stafford, Jall, Jeffery, Valtaic and T'Parief had gathered outside the Signal Analysis room. In the corridor, Nurse Kerry was setting up some portable bio-sensors. Sylvia and Nurse Veeneman were making Yanick comfortable in her quarters, while Fifebee was confirming Pye's report on the Qu'Eh reinforcements.  
"Our own reinforcements can't be far," Stafford was saying, "God knows we've been waiting long enough,"  
"Can't imagine what that's like," Jall quipped.  
"But those extra Qu'Eh troops could mean serious trouble for the Matrian rebels," Stafford went on, "We need that rebellion keeping the Qu'Eh busy, and off track!"  
"Unlocking this place wouldn't hurt either, would it?" Jall said.  
"San, we still don't know what Haven does," Stafford shook his head, "We've got a cavern the size of a starbase hanger that we can't access. It could be filled with enough ships and weapons to kick the Qu'Eh into next week, or we might be standing in the Matrian equivalent of Noah's Ark."  
"And while you are debating, Patricia is in great pain," T'Parief broke in, his voice sounding just a little bit dangerous, "Let's move!"  
"OK, OK," Stafford held up his hands.  
The group of them moved towards the large room and the invisible energy field it contained. Fifebee had managed, at least, to lay a few mats down on the floor. Wowryk and Craigan were now resting comfortably. Five more mats had been laid out just inside the field, waiting for them to step inside and collapse onto them.  
"Ah thought we were finished with these things years ago," Jeffery shook his head.  
"Hey, I just finished getting tortured with one a couple of days ago!" Jall shot back.  
"I am most curious to experience this technology," Valtaic shrugged.  
"Oops, I almost forgot," Kerry ran over, then injected Valtaic with something, "That should keep your energy emissions down. Can't have you accidently disrupting the field with an involuntary energy spike."  
"I just hate it when my 'energy levels' 'spike' too soon," Jall smirked, making little air quotes.  
"I have not especially missed you," Valtaic said, matter-of-factly.  
"Naw, you love me, and you know it,"  
"You invoke many emotions. Love is not one of them."  
"Ah'm ready to be unconscious now," Jeffery nudged Stafford.  
"OK kids, let's go," Stafford said.  
They took a deep breath, then stepped into the field.

The first thing Jeffery became aware of was the clock.  
The thing was huge, easily three meters in diameter. It featured a pair of gleaming, silver hands, behind which was an image of Jeffery's face. The second hand had been replaced with a big, bushy red moustache, which ticked around in a circle. After staring at it for a moment, Jeffery realized he'd seen it before. No, that wasn't quite right. He'd seen part of it before.  
The other elements of the Matrian Dreamland didn't so much explode into his consciousness as they slowly seeped in, like water through coffee grinds. A chair was next to him, except for some reason it was upside down. Above the clock was a flickering holographic image of a nude woman, grinning impishly and extending one finger in a 'come hither' gesture. Nearby was a trio of control pulpits, their displays active but showing static. Windows above, a railing looking down onto another level, three stairs running down…  
He was in Haven's command complex. Or at least a version of it.  
"This is sort of trippy," Jall said. He was looking up at the ceiling windows. The view was that of packed sand, identical to what was visible through the real command complex windows. As he watched, it slowly morphed in a clear blue sky. Then back to sand. The lower windows were cycling through a series of vistas. They had just changed from looking into an oily blackness to looking into a vast, empty cavern. The floor was covered by a huge lake, stretching at least a mile away from them in all directions and interrupted only by 6 slender bridges. The ceiling had been craggy rock, but as Stafford turned to look it changed into a metallic dome. Starships faded into view, hundreds of Matrian cruisers, assault ships, scouts and fighters. Then, abruptly, they vanished.  
"What the…" Jeffery started.  
Land heaved itself out of the lake, the water pouring off it (yet the water level in the remaining pools didn't seem to rise). Within seconds only a narrow ring-shaped lake was left around the central island. Stasis pods appeared everywhere, from tiny units to units the size of a small house. They could barely make out the shapes of animals in them.  
"Noah's Ark," Jall murmered.  
"It's all coming from our minds," T'Parief said, "None of this is real,"  
Stafford blinked. Of course he'd known that. They'd all known that. Then why had they been so confused by what they were seeing?  
Stafford turned to the clock Jeffery had first seen. It wasn't just a clock, he realized. It was Haven's central holo-table with clock hands added in where before there had just been a large, depressed circle.  
"I remember the first time I saw this table," Stafford said slowly, moving away from the windows and towards the table, "I remember thinking it looked a lot like a watch my parents gave me. Just without the crystal and the hands,"  
"So why's me face there with a big, bushy, spinnin' moustache?" Jeffery wondered.  
"I think that's me," Jall raised one hand sheepishly, "It reminds me of a clock somebody made at the Academy, in the Human Hideaway lounge,"  
"Ohh, ye mean the one of Chief Spinte?" Jeffery nodded, "Ah saw that one!"  
"I remember that guy!" Stafford joined in, "He was such a f-"  
T'Parief growled, then started stalking down the stairs towards the exit. Outside, the cavern lake was glowing bright orange as dozens of snub-nosed planetary defence disrupters heaved themselves out of the water.  
"Lieutenant Yanick is presently suffering," Valtaic pointed out.  
Jall, Stafford and Jeffery at least had the grace to look embarrassed.  
They followed T'Parief into the turbolift.

Unlike previous trips, where only darkness had been visible, this time as the lift sunk below the command center they were greeted with a brief view out into the cavern. The disruptor cannons had been replaced with surface-to-space antimatter missile launchers and the lake was no longer glowing.  
"So how do we find Wowryk?" Jall asked, "I assume that's the plan?"  
"I thought it would be as easy as just imagining her with us," Stafford said, "But I've been trying that since we got here,"  
"We know from earlier encounters that if somebody has sufficient mental power, they can override the wishes of another," T'Parief said briskly, "Obviously, whoever is in charge doesn't want us finding her, yet.  
"Abela?"  
"Or Queen Wowryk herself,"  
There was a sudden sound, a sort of SCHUNK-SCHUNK-SCHUNK, then the turbolift car dropped out of a green pipe and plummeted towards a grassy hill several meters below.

Outside the virtual world, in the real Haven command complex, Lieutenant Pye was starting to pace. He wasn't sure if he'd picked that habit up from the Captain, or if it had always been there, lurking, just waiting for the right amount of stress to bring it out.  
Since their rescue from Silverado, the Beta shift had become…well..the Beta shift. They'd spent the bulk of their time up in the command complex, watching the sensors, routing communications, keeping an eye open for any more Qu'Eh 'Public Service Announcements' and watching the news for interesting tidbits. It definitely beat being trapped in a disabled starship! Pye was walking back and forth by the holo-table, while Bith and Day were manning the small, portable workstations connected to the small Federation computer core. Stern of course was with the Hazardous Team out in the outer rim, and Quintaine was sitting at the control pulpit Queen Anselia had unlocked. He couldn't access anything other than the link to the Defence HQ computers, but since that link was their only lifeline to the outside world, it was very carefully monitored.  
"H-Hey!" Bith called out, "I'm getting a funny reading from one of the Qu'Eh ships!"  
Pye looked up. Sure enough, one of the small icons orbiting the hologram of Matria Prime was blinking.  
"What is that?" Pye asked.  
"Energy surge," Bith said, tapping into the orbital sensors, "I think they're arming weapons!"  
"I have a visual," Quintaine said, bringing up a view from an orbital satellite.  
"This can't be right," Bith frowned.  
As they watched, the Qu'Eh ship opened fire. But it wasn't a Qu'Eh weapon blast that speared out. Instead, it was a red, Federation-style phaser beam. The beam speared across space and stuck Silverado's drifting form, cutting deep into one warp nacelle and sending debris flying off into space.  
"Federation power readings," Bith said urgently.  
"Uh-oh," Pye gulped.  
"We need to report this," Day said firmly.  
"To who? Most of the senior staff is off in la-la-land!"

The turbolift car plummeted to ground, landing on the back of some sort of bizarre turtle. The creature retracted into its shell, but the impact sent the shell spinning away, crashing into a snarling plant in the process. The plant gave a sort of snivelling cry, then collapsed to the ground. The turbolift car split apart, the pieces bouncing once then disappearing.  
"Somebody's been playing too much Super Mario Brothers on their tricorder," Stafford said, disapprovingly.  
"Hey, this place is boring, and there aren't any holodecks," Jeffery said.  
The world shifted again. This time, they found themselves facing a furry, white, cartoon mugato.  
"BOW BEFORE THE MIGHT OF GENERAL SKUN'KAPE!" it bellowed.  
"OK, that's it!" Stafford cried, "Everybody! STOP IMAGINING STUFF!"  
A bucked of water appeared over Stafford's head. It tipped, drenching him.  
"Sorry, that was me," Jall said sheepishly.  
They worked to clear their minds. There was an abrupt blast of squealing, screeching sound as a set of bagpipes appeared.  
"Oops," Jeffery muttered. The bagpipes vanished.  
Soon, they were standing on an empty, grassy field.  
Valtiac was looking dazed.  
"You've all experienced this insanity before?" he asked.  
"Well, it wasn't quite as crazy the last time," Jall said.  
Stafford snapped his fingers.  
"Yes it was," he said, "Remember, way back? The very first time?"  
"Before Wowryk learned how to control it," T'Parief nodded. He was still looking around, seeking something against which he could take action, "We all became younger, there was a similar mixing of memories and imagination,"  
"I think the reason why Abela's been in here so long is that she never learned to control it," Stafford said.  
"So how do we find her?"  
That's when the armies showed up.

"This is very disturbing," Fifebee said to Pye, speaking over the comm channel while Sylvia wiped Yanick's brow with a damp cloth, "If the Qu'Eh are experimenting with Federation technology salvaged from our ship, they could upgrade their sensors sufficiently to detect Haven,"  
"Yeah, not to mention that our reinforcements are in for a nasty surprise," Pye said.  
"Assuming they ever get here," Fifebee replied, "My estimates had them arriving five days ago,"  
"They're coming, right?" Pye asked.  
Fifebee paused briefly as she considered. Being a computer, the pause was mere milliseconds. But still. She knew, as did the rest of the senior staff, that the fleet had been delayed due to a lack of larger ships. She also knew that Jall had sent Noonan a message asking for help, and that if anybody were to help them, it was Noonan.  
"They are indeed," Fifebee replied. She closed the channel.  
Sylvia looked at her. Between them, Yanick groaned in pain.  
"Chris and San need to know about this," Sylvia said.  
"They seem to have found a bad time to be incommunicado," Fifebee said crisply.  
Sylvia didn't reply, instead re-wetting the cloth and wiping Yanick's forehead.

"Ah didn't imagine this, Ah swear!" Jeffery squeaked. At opposite ends of the grassy field, two armies were massing. The Silverado team were sitting ducks, right in what was no doubt about to be a killing zone.  
"T'Parief?" Stafford asked, little doubt in his mind as to who might have dreamed up this particular scenario.  
"It's not me," T'Parief replied.  
"You sure?" Jall asked, "Cuz this really looks like the kind of thing you'd go for,"  
"I don't suppose these are going to be the kind of armies that fling large projectiles in ballistic trajectories, thus missing the middle ground entirely," Valtaic said glumly.  
"No," T'Parief said, squinting at the rapidly approaching figures, "These look like the kind of armies that get up close and personal with sharp, pointed objects." He concentrated for a moment, then a large rack of swords, spears and other bladed objects materialized next to him. "This is going to be fun," he added.  
"No slicing and dicing the friendlies this time!" Jall said urgently. The last time he and T'Parief had been involved in a virtual battle, he'd died no less than 13 times.  
"Can't we just conjure up some phasers and fry them all?" Jeffery asked. He concentrated, then a rack filled with energy weapons appeared.  
"That would not be a fair fight," T'Parief complained.  
"Um, guys," Jall tried to cut in.  
"Ah donnae care about fair!" Jeffery shot back, "We need to find Noel, and to do that, we need to live!"  
"Oh s**t!" Stafford gulped, following Jall's gaze. The nearest army was close, and getting closer very quickly.  
"What about honour? Do you care the least bit about that?" T'Parief demanded.  
"Not when the bad guys are fake!"  
"This really isn't-" Jall tried again.  
"We must practice as we fight," T'Parief insisted.  
The closest army was so close, Stafford could see the whites of their eyes. They were human or Matrian and appeared to be riding the Matrian equivalent of horses. Both horses and riders wore chainmail armour, and their broad, diamond-shaped swords looked sharp enough to split a hair.  
"AHHHH!" Stafford screamed, grabbing a phaser and firing wildly in all directions. Jeffery and Jall dove to the ground while T'Parief grabbed a pair of mek'leths and planted both feet stubbornly into a fighting stance, facing the oncoming troops.  
"Shields up," Valtaic said calmly. Immediately, a dome-shaped bubble of energy sprang up around them. The charging troops veered around it, those that came too close simply bounced off with watery-sounding BOONNGGG. Within seconds, they'd reached their opponents, and the field was filled with the clang of swords and the cries of the wounded.  
T'Parief whirled on Valtaic, his blade at the other officer's throat in the blink of an eye.  
Valtaic blinked. T'Parief's sword immediately morphed into a big, fuzzy, floppy banana.  
"This place is very easy to manipulate," Valtaic commented dryly, "For a well-disciplined mind, that is,"  
"That," T'Parief indicated the shield, "is cheating!"  
"You'd prefer to waste time while your mate continues to writhe in pain?" Valtaic asked.  
Jall narrowed his eyes. Jeffery simply looked pissed off while Stafford nervously cleared his throat and set his phaser carefully back on the rack.  
"OK then, now what?" Stafford asked.  
"I suggest we speak to the leaders of these armies," Valtaic said.  
"Why? They're not…" Jall squinted, "Ohhh, I always knew she was a bitch,"  
"Huh?" Jeffery wondered.  
"There," Jall pointed.  
The army closest to them had white and blue colours on their armour, along with a crest that, Jeffery realized, was eerily similar to the Starfleet Medical Services branch crest. The other was dressed in red and blue, with a logo none of them recognized. Seated atop one of the horses, screaming orders and slashing her sword, was Dr. Noel Wowryk. As they watched, she spun around, her sword decapitating a nearby enemy. Blood splattered, insane amounts of it, more than the body could have possibly contained. It covered Wowryk instantly.  
"Who wants to bet that Craigan's leading the other side?" Jall said. He was interrupted as Wowryk abruptly let out a shriek. The sound was unreal, amplified beyond the levels of the average human voice, and all the rescue party members immediately clutched their ears.  
Abruptly, the scream faded, as did the sounds of battle. Looking around, they now found themselves on the same battlefield, only now they were surrounded by wounded, dying or dead troops.  
"Oh, this is just WRONG!" Jall grimaced, pulling his booted foot out of somebody's intestines. Jeffery was dry heaving, while Stafford was positive he could hear T'Parief's stomach rumbling.  
Before anybody could offer their interpretation of this new series of events, the silence was split with the sound of sirens. From the one direction, the same direction Wowryk's army had come from, came at least two dozen gleaming white hover-ambulances. From the opposite directions, Matrian Defence Force vehicles. The ambulances stopped first, with none other than Noel Wowryk charging out and beginning triage.  
"This one's too far gone!" she snapped, glancing over the poor imaginary sod that had contributed to Jall's new foot colouring. "Over here! Serious lacerations, punctured lung, blood loss. Signs of shock!" She moved on to the next wounded (imaginary) soldier while several (imaginary) medics started work.  
"Anybody care to start a detailed psycho-analysis?" Jall said.  
"I think you meant psych-analysis," Stafford said.  
"No, I'm pretty sure I meant what I said,"  
"We don't have time for this," T'Parief said firmly. Nearby, Craigan was dressed in an MDF uniform and was walking up and down the rows of wounded, asking questions and jotting down notes on a padd.  
"Ok, how about a situational analysis?" Jall offered.  
"Somebody has created a scenario designed to keep Wowryk and Craigan busy," T'Parief said immediately.  
"So why didn't we end up in our own little custom scenarios being kept busy?" Jall asked.  
"Maybe Abela doesn't have enough control over the place," Jeffery suggested.  
"Or maybe we're already being kept busy enough," Stafford offered.  
T'Parief abruptly stepped out of the shield bubble Valtaic had created. He approached Wowryk.  
"Dr. Wowryk, you must come to your senses. Patricia is in serious condition and requires your help,"  
"They're all in serious condition!" Wowryk wailed, "I have to help them all! This is all my fault!"  
"They aren't real!" T'Parief insisted, "Patricia is!"  
While he argued, Valtaic spoke up to the others.  
"Perhaps if, together, we focused our minds on freeing Dr. Wowryk from outside influence?"  
"Worth a try," Stafford agreed. They began concentrating.  
In the meantime, T'Parief had gone into a very dramatic and no doubt entertaining speech about the importance of loyalty, and of honour, and how Wowryk could somehow achieve both if she'd just stop play-acting and do what he said. As Stafford, Valtaic, Jall and Jeffery concentrated, Wowryk's eyes suddenly cleared. She looked around for a moment.  
"I'm in the Matrian virtual reality, aren't I?" she said.  
T'Parief looked smugly back at the rest of the rescue party.  
"Don't," Stafford said, patting Valtaic on the shoulder before he could say anything, "Let him think he won this one. He's already pissed enough that he didn't get to slaughter anybody today,"  
"Most wise, sir," Valtaic agreed.

T'Parief gave another variation on his loyalty and honour speech while the rest of the team stood behind him and concentrated hard on freeing Craigan. Well, they were able to concentrate after Stafford elbowed Jall in the ribs in an effort to stop the other officer from making silly faces at T'Parief's back.  
Finally, they stood together on the empty field.  
"I remember arriving," Wowryk explained, "But everything was…warped. And twisted. I tried to take control of the M-SID, but it didn't work. Something was blocking me,"  
"We can worry about that later," T'Parief said, "You must see to Yanick, immediately."  
"Yes, of course," Wowryk nodded, "If the rest of you focus on preventing anybody from interfering with me, I should be able to get enough control to take us out of the M-SID,"  
"What, so we can try this all over again tomorrow?" Jall cut in.  
"Trish-" T'Parief started.  
"Can wait another half-hour!" Jall said, "If we leave now, we might give Abela or whoever enough time to prepare a bigger trap for us next time!"  
"I don't think Abela's doing this," Wowryk said, "At least, not consciously. I sense…confusion."  
"What, now you're a Betazoid?" Stafford said sceptically.  
"It's a Queen Wowryk thing," Wowryk waved him off, "Even if I'm not quite there. But if Abela's controlling this thing, something's really wrong with her."  
"We knew that," Stafford shook his head, "Otherwise she would have come out of here a century ago to visit Craigan!"  
"Yes," Craigan agreed quietly.  
"Can you take control of the M-SID from her?" Stafford asked.  
"I don't know," Wowryk said, "But I think we should try.

They gathered around Wowryk in a circle, hands held. It almost looked like a bizarre séance, which in a way it was.  
"Focus on me," Wowryk said, her eyes closed, "I must be free of…of influence. Of interference. I must be pure,"  
Jeffery kicked Jall in the shins just as the latter was about to make a cutting remark.  
"Whoah," Craigan gasped, "Do you feel that?"  
Power was starting to ripple off Wowryk, almost like heat. The doctor's face was a study in concentration. The endless field, the bright sun, and the green transport pipe hanging out of what looked like nothing all faded away. In their place was a hazy gray emptiness.  
"I feel…yes," Wowryk said, "Yes, somebody has tried to take control of this Dream Machine. But they were…there was an interruption. A pain."  
They all winced as a jolt of pain suddenly ran down their left arms. (Except T'Parief, his was in his tail.) They all clutched their chests.  
"Heart attack," Wowryk said sadly, "The stress was too much for her. She died."  
"But I thought you sensed-" Stafford said.  
"Grat? Is that you?" a weak, wavery voice asked.  
They spun around. A large, well-padded armchair had appeared. Seated in it was an incredibly, incredibly old-looking woman. She had a soft blanket pulled up to her waist, and her white hair was pulled back in a large bun. Around them, the grey blankness had transformed into a small, comfortably appointed Matrian home.  
"Grat? I thought you were bringing me tea today," Colonel Abela said, her lips sucking against her toothless gums, "Who are these people you brought with you?

Craigan had never seen anybody so old…so ancient, in his entire life.  
Modern-day Matria wasn't exactly filled with old people, what between suspended animation and the war. Back in Craigan's time, before the wars had broke out, the Matrian Empire had developed many successful rejuvenation programs, much like the Federation, and had extended the average life-span considerably. But the woman in front of him, Abela, he reminded himself, looked like she'd died a long time ago, and had just continued aging. Her hands were knarled, the knuckles swollen with arthritis. Her legs were hidden by the blanket covering her, but it couldn't hide the fact that she was wasted away to almost nothing. Her chest was sunken, her shoulders slumped. Her eyes were dim, and she seemed to be squinting at them, though the copious wrinkles on her face made it hard to tell.  
More memories were flooding back to Craigan. Small things, tidbits that didn't relate to Haven. He remembered how Abela had taken him out of stasis, twenty-five years after he'd been frozen, and treated him to a traditional holiday meal. She'd joked then that he was officially her longest male relationship. He'd remarked that she'd found the perfect way to keep a man around: lock him in a stasis tube. He remembered her showing him holo-images of the Bevin Fire-Swamps, where she'd been posted as an intelligence officer during the 5th Bevin/Council Conflict. Craigan realized, with a start, that it had been over 200 years since he'd met her, and that from her perspective they'd met every 5-10 years or so. But with his restored memories, he felt like he'd spent only a single month with nothing but her companionship.  
The Starfleet officers behind him, except for Stafford and Wowryk, were going over the room carefully. Jall had managed to get his hand caught in a J'Taeri finger-trap that had been sitting on a shelf, prompting Valtaic to rush to his aid, only to become trapped himself.  
"This is it," Wowryk said, "She's…well, she's not really in control of the Dreamland. But it seems to be responding to her. Probably because she's been here for so long,"  
"Abela?" Craigan was asking as he knelt next to the old woman, "Can you hear me?"  
"Grat?" she blinked, then raised on hand as if sipping a cup of tea, "You used too much sugar again, dear,"  
"She looks pretty far gone," Stafford swallowed.  
"She's dead," Wowryk shook her head.  
"Then how is she still here? I though the M-SIDs only manipulated brainwaves. If her brain isn't working…" Stafford shrugged.  
"She was trying to transfer herself to the other body," Wowryk said, "Maybe…maybe she's stuck half-way?"  
"Abela, it's me," Craigan was saying, "It's Craigan. I found the people you wanted. Or they found me. Whatever. But it's time,"  
She looked blankly at him. He took her hands gently in his.  
"It's time to wake up," he said, "It's time to finish your mission."  
There was a spark of recognition. It wasn't much, and it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. But Craigan knew he'd seen something.  
"Dr. Wowryk can get us out of here," he said, "You just have to let her!"  
Wowryk cleared her throat.  
"Well, I didn't make any promises…"  
"It's time to go back to Haven," Craigan said.  
There was another flash from those eyes, one that most of the people in the room missed. Only T'Parief and Craigan noticed it. At the mention of Haven, Craigan was certain he saw a rise in awareness, like somebody starting to awaken from a very deep sleep. T'Parief would have agreed, but he saw something else. Very briefly, so briefly it could have been his imagination. But what T'Parief saw was a flash of a cunning intelligence. And he didn't like that look one bit.  
Wowryk suddenly jolted.  
"I have control," she said simply. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

Stafford found himself sprawled out on a mat on the floor of the Signal Analysis room. Around him, the other members of the rescue team were climbing to their feet. There was a sudden hiss as the stasis tube next to the M-SID cracked open.  
"Abela!" Craigan called, running to the tube.  
Nurse Kerry charged in the moment it was safe.  
"Dr. Wowryk! We need you up in the clinic! Medical emergency!"  
"Of course," Wowryk said quickly, "Situation?"  
"Yanick's in labour!"  
"But she's-"  
"Not pregnant! We know!" Kerry just shrugged helplessly.  
They ran out of the room, T'Parief close on their, er, tails.  
"Abela!" Craigan said again, standing next to the stasis tube with a hand on the clone body's shoulder. She was breathing, and her body heat had picked up as soon as the stasis field had shut down, but she was unconscious.  
"Ye want Ah should blow this thing up now?" Jeffery asked, pointing to the M-SID.  
"One crisis as a time!" Stafford cried out.

After destroying the M-SID and arranging for a stretcher for the clone, the Silverado senior officers gathered outside the clinic.  
"It's only been half an hour," Stafford was pacing, "No reason to think…I mean, surely nothing is…"  
"I still don't understand what's going on," Jall said, "I mean, I know I missed a lot of the last month being in a Qu'Eh brig and all, but how did you all miss the fact that Trish is pregnant?"  
"She's not!" everybody yelled.  
"But you said she was nauseous in the mornings," Jall remarked.  
Nods.  
"And she had mood swings,"  
More nods.  
"And her tummy got really, really big,"  
Again, nods.  
"Then she starting having contractions. And she went into labour."  
The nods continued.  
"So…" Jall made a 'Well D'UH!' gesture.  
"But she was checked out!" Stafford said, "the f**king Matrian Surgeon General examined her himself! He said she wasn't pregnant!"  
"He was right, mostly." the doors hissed open and Dr. Wowryk stepped out. Jall tried peeking through the door before Kerry pulled it shut, but all he could see was T'Parief's back.  
"How is she?" Stafford demanded, "If we waited too long…I…I don't know what I'll do!"  
"She's going to be fine," Wowryk said.  
There was a collective sigh of relief.  
"Could you clarify 'mostly right'?" Valtaic asked.  
"Well," Wowryk shook her head, "It's the strangest, most unholy thing I've ever seen. I don't know if it has something to do with Project Triad,"  
"The genetics program that created T'Parief," Jeffery whispered to Valtaic, who nodded appreciatively.  
"Or what," Wowryk went on, "But she…they…are definitely having a baby. No genetic engineering, fertility treatments or anything. I'd say it's impossible, but it's happening."  
"But you said she wasn't pregnant," Jall frowned, "I mean, I know I'm not an expert on how guys and girls do things with each other, but-"  
"She isn't pregnant. Wasn't pregnant, I should say," Wowryk corrected herself.  
The door slid open and Kerry poked her head out.  
"They're ready for visitors," she said. Wowryk nodded.  
"She wasn't pregnant," Wowryk said again.  
Stafford pushed the door fully open as the rest of the Silverado officers rushed in. In one corner of the small clinic, Yanick was lying on a bed while T'Parief stood next to her. Between them, in a carefully padded cart was a wrapped bundle.  
"She was getting ready to lay an egg," Wowryk finished.  
Stafford's eyes rolled back into his head as he fainted to the floor.

As Jeffery, Valtaic, Fifebee and Sylvia gathered around Yanick and T'Parief to offer their somewhat confused congratulations, Wowryk checked on her other two patients. Stafford would be fine as soon as he came to, but she didn't know what to make of the Abela clone. She'd done her best to direct Abela, or what might have just been Abela's imprint on the M-SID, into the clone body before taking them all out of the Dreamland. Metaphysical and religious issues aside, Wowryk just couldn't take the chance that the poor woman's soul was trapped in that infernal machine. But she was still unconscious, and Wowryk didn't know what to make of her neuro-scanner readings.  
"How you feeling, Doc?" Jall asked softly.  
"Shouldn't you be with the rest over there?" she asked, a bit more sharply than she'd intended.  
"Naw, babies…or eggs, in this case, don't interest me that much," he said, "I was wondering how you were doing,"  
"I'm fine," she said.  
"Really?" Jall asked, "Because, you know, after that little army episode, it doesn't take Yvonnokoff to tell us that you're obviously really conflicted about what you've been doing lately. And I know a lot of that's my fault,"  
"What I had to do was your fault," Wowryk said crisply, "Being conflicted isn't,"  
"What I meant was-"  
"I've already had this conversation with Stafford," Wowryk cut him off, "And I don't want to have it again. Just…just get out of my hair!"  
Jall stepped back as Wowryk started fussing over Abela's monitoring equipment.  
Next to him, Stafford abruptly sat up in his bed. His eyes were wide and seemed to be fixed at an empty patch of floor. His mouth moved as if he was saying something, but Jall couldn't make it out.  
"We're all cracking up," Jall muttered to himself.

Stafford found himself lying on a bed in Haven's small clinic. He remembered walking in, remembered seeing the egg, then…what?  
"That's just so creepy," he shuddered, thinking of the egg.  
There was a soft sound. Stafford sat straight up in his bed. He looked around briefly, then his gaze locked onto the hazy figure standing in the middle of the room. Nobody else seemed to have noticed it, as he was half aware that the others were going about their business. But he could see the figure standing right there. Human-ish, male, with pale ivory skin and jet black hair. It couldn't be real, Stafford could see an open case of medical supplies right through the figure's abdomen, but he recognized the ghostly face.  
"Soon," Commander Matthew Noonan said, "Very soon,"  
Stafford looked over at where the Abela clone was stretched out. He turned to the other side and looked at where Yanick and T'Parief were still hovering over their egg. He could almost feel the weight of the Command Tower pressing down above his head, along with the sand or rock that was burying Haven. Haven itself suddenly felt like a massive presence all around him, like he was just a speck of sand in a bowl of water. Beyond that, the cities and people of Matria Prime felt almost connected to him, like a network stretching over the planet's surface. He could sense the captive Matrian and Senousian crews in orbit, and the presence of the Qu'Eh, spreading themselves like mould growing on an orange. Further yet, he could feel the tiny sparks of the Federation fleet as it finally drew close to its destination.  
Abruptly, the ghostly image of Noonan vanished, taking with it the vision or daydream or whatever it was. The sights and sounds of the clinic hit Stafford full force. He noticed Jall standing next to him, looking at him strangely.  
"Feeling better?" Jall ask.  
Stafford blinked, then shook his head, confused.  
"Apparently not," Jall shrugged, patting him on the shoulder and moving on, "Hey, did anybody bring some bacon to go with that egg?"

End.


	14. Termination - Part 1

Star Traks: Silverado

5.14 – Termination: Part 1

It has been several days since Wowryk released Craigan and Abela from the Matrian Spatial Interphase Device and the virtual reality it had generated. Matrian Rebels, led primarily now by Agent Jural and Mistress Laheya, continued raids, strikes and intelligence operations against the Qu'Eh troops occupying Matrian cities. In turn, the Qu'Eh have been reinforced by tens of thousands of ground troops. Clashes between the two have been growing increasingly heated, and increasingly harder to cover up. Regular citizens now rush quickly through city streets, afraid of being caught between a rock and an angry place. Hidden in the Evendra Desert, in Haven Installation, Stafford and his people continued working with the Matrians to keep the Qu'Eh off balance, waiting as Commander Noonan's relief fleet came closer and closer to Matrian Space.  
Things are finally coming to a boil.

City of Fanchescuut, Matria Prime:

"You're sure you didn't cross the wrong wires this time?" Ensign Simmons whispered urgently.  
"Positive," Lieutenant Marsden said confidently, "This is the third Quali-Tech building we've sabotaged. I've got it right,"  
"That's what you said on the last one," Crewman Kreklor scowled, his Klingon features just adding to the expression, "Yet it too exploded after thirty seconds, rather than just being disabled after a few minutes,"  
"Yeah, look, I figured out what I did wrong!" Marsden insisted. His arm was buried in the circuitry of a Qu'Eh transceiver system atop one of their call-center buildings. There was a click as he made one last adjustment. "See?"  
Nothing happened.  
"See what?" Lt. Cmdr David Stern asked.  
Marsden frowned and buried both arms in the jumble of cables.  
"I know I've got it right!" he insisted.  
"Just cross the wrong wires," Stern sighed, "We've survived two call-center explosions. What's a third?"  
There was another click.  
Still, nothing happened.  
"I think the Qu'Eh put some kind of protection buffer on their system," Marsden said, shaking his head, "It's not working,"  
"Simmons, Plan B," Stern snapped.  
Simmons, a maniacal grin on his face, ripped open his pack and started pulling out various bomb components.  
"Shouldn't we wait until after hours, when the building is empty?" Lieutenant Rengs asked.  
"It's a call-center, it runs 26-8," Stern said, "Besides, it's not that big a bomb. We blow the transceiver array, everybody runs out screaming, no harm done. Worst-case scenario, somebody catches on fire and does the old stop, drop & roll,"  
"Oookay,"  
"Any sign of guards?" Stern asked.  
"None," Rengs replied. He frowned, "I thought the Qu'Eh had reinforcements?"  
"Yeah?"  
"So what are they doing with them all? They sure haven't been doing much to stop us!"  
"Good question."

Half a planet away, Stafford, Hektor and Anselia were returning from visiting the tribe of 'primative' Matrians led by Leader Hylin. Well, she had called herself Leader Hylin. Anselia had declared her to be Commodore Hylin, in command of the First (and only) Matria Prime Oceanic Defence Fleet. The discussions had been short, with Hylin being eager to help defend Matria and Stafford and Anselia having only a simple task for them: Deploy your sensor-shielded submariness, aim the anti-matter missiles at the Qu'Eh ships in orbit and wait for our signal. Lieutenant Bith had been left behind as a liaison. In any event, that particular branch of the plan was in place.  
Now, Anselia and Stafford found themselves clinging on to their seats for dear life as Lieutenant Yanick, recovered from her ordeal, piloted the Matrian shuttle on its pogo-stick anti-gravity driven course.  
"So, Trish," Stafford said, "How's the, um…little one?"  
Yanick had laid an egg several days prior.  
"T'Parief's sitting with it right now," Yanick replied, "Noel says everything looks OK, but she's not really experienced with this kind of thing,"  
"Who is?" Stafford shook his head in amazement, "But by 'sitting with', surely you don't mean he's, um, sitting ON…it? Right? Cuz…y'know…he's pretty big…"  
"No, he's just holding it," Yanick giggled, "Jeffery helped Noel rig an incubator for us, but Yvonnokoff said we should each spend time warming it ourselves every day. Something about parental bonds, or imprinting, or something,"  
"Good idea," Stafford said. Next to him, Anselia was looking out the window, a frown on her face.  
"Christopher, look down there," she said.  
Stafford looked out the window, down at the sandy desert and line of troops beneath them.  
Line of troops?  
"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, "Are those Qu'Eh troops? Why are there Qu'Eh troops in the middle of OUR desert?"  
"Your desert, Starfleeter?"  
"You know what I mean, your most majestic highness-ness!"  
Yanick triggered the anti-grav again, sending the shuttle up into the sky before it started coasting down and forward. Stafford lost sight of the ground briefly, and then he again spotted the wide column of Qu'Eh troops making their way over the sands, strings of support vehicles behind them.  
"Are they on foot?" Anselia wondered.  
"They're moving pretty fast. Probably using power-suits, or land-cycles," Stafford marvelled. A ground formation like this was very rare in an age where orbiting starships could unleash incredible destructive power on a planet.  
"What the hell?" he frowned, "Why would the Qu'Eh bother sending so many of their people into the desert instead of chasing after the rebels?"  
"They obviously know there's something to find," Hektor said, sounding worried, "But they don't seem to be heading in the right direction if it is Haven they seek,"  
"The Qu'Eh are experimenting with Federation technology they've been scavenging from Silverado," Stafford said grimly," They must have been able to use Federation sensors to either track our ships or Haven's energy emissions. They know we're somewhere in the Evendra Desert, but that's it."  
"And now they're narrowing down the search!" Anselia finished.  
"How far to Haven?" Stafford demanded.  
"The way they're moving?" Yanick shrugged, "A couple of days, maybe a week. Give or take."  
Stafford and Anselia exchanged a relieved look.  
"That's not so bad," Anselia said.  
"That's if they keep wandering around and searching," Yanick went on, "If they manage to get a fix on Haven with those sensors, well, they could be there in a couple of hours,"  
"You couldn't just leave it at 'maybe a week', could you?" Stafford gulped.

Lieutenant Pye and Ensign Burke were sitting in Haven's Signal Analysis room, each eyeing a different screen. Pye's screen showed the Qu'Eh controlled news broadcast. Burke's showed a pirate signal that he'd helped the Matrian Rebels rig. The images on the two were very similar, but the commentary was vastly different.  
"And in other news, the Dignity Way Gardens have been cleared to make way for a new, higher-quality green space, brought to you by the Qu'Eh Living Improvement And Renovation Services," said the Qu'Eh controlled commentator. "L.I.A.R.S. is certain that all the citizens of Matronus will enjoy this new ecologically-friendly project-"  
"Qu'Eh Customer Service troops razed the flower gardens on Dignity Way surrounding the Qu'Eh controlled government buildings, in preparation for Qu'Eh plans to install heavy fortifications in our government district," said the rebel channel.  
"Workers in Fanchescuut cheered news that Quali-Tech will be expanding into neighbouring buildings, allowing for the hiring of an entire new Quality Service Department,"  
"The Franchescuut Quali-Tech building was sabotaged by elite Federation commandos. The Qu'Eh are struggling to open temporary buildings until their main facility can be repaired. On a related front, attempted suicides among Quali-Tech slaves has risen 200% in the past week,"  
"Chairman P'tarek is expected to announce today that Mistress Laurette, leader of the Matrian Republic, has permanently accepted the position of Site Director within the Qu'Eh organization and will be promoted at a ceremony aboard his ship tomorrow,"  
"Mistress Laurette is being forcibly implanted with a Qu'Eh monitoring device,"  
"And, finally, deep space sensors report all clear. No contacts anywhere in the star systems currently comprising Matrian Space,"  
"Deep space sensors today detected a group of unknown signals holding position in the direction of Senous. While the nature of these contacts is not yet know, the Qu'Eh fear that this could be the long-awaited Federation relief fleet, and have sent out scouts to confirm this,"  
Burke jerked up in his chair and started pounding at his console, trying to get access through the Defence HQ computers to the deep space sensors.  
"Confirm that!" Pye ordered, rushing over to look over his shoulder.  
"I can confirm seven signals coming in from the direction of Senous," Burke said after a moment, "But I don't know if they're coming from Senous or Federation space. Or what they are. Hell, we could have a whole new group of hostile aliens on our hands!"  
Below them, Commander T'Parief was walking slowly around the ring-shaped second level of the command center. An oblong bundle roughly the size of a humanoid newborn was cradled in one arm.  
"I'm more concerned with the implantation of Mistress Laurette," he said, loud enough that they could hear them, but softly enough that they knew he was having one of those tender soon-to-be-daddy moments.  
"That too," Pye admitted.  
The turbolift doors opened and Commander Jall emerged.  
"How are you going to keep that thing warm if you're cold-blooded?" he asked, taking one look at T'Parief and his egg. T'Parief just gave an irritated throat-rattle and started pacing in the opposite direction.  
"Have the Hazardous Team prepare to deploy," T'Parief called back over his shoulder, "Assuming the Captain approves, they will handle Mistress Laurette's extraction,"  
"Do it yourself," Jall shot back, "And why would he OK that? Isn't the point to have her out there drawing their attention while Queen Anselia and King Hektor are in here?"  
"He's got a point," Pye called down from the third level, "All the Qu'Eh are going to accomplish by implanting her is prove to the rest of the Matrians just how evil they are. Let them parade her around with her shiny headgear. When the fleet gets here, they'll turn on the Qu'Eh like…well, like you against Jall."  
"If that's our fleet," T'Parief mused.  
"C'mon, sir. How many other fleets are we expecting?

Aboard the USS Banshee, Captain Jad Vorezze, Commander Charlotte Burns and Commander Matthew Noonan were also watching the Qu'Eh and Matrian news/propaganda broadcasts.  
"Looks like this Matrian Republic is a busy place," Vorezze said, "Those rebels sure are busy, considering they've only had a month or so to get going,"  
"Dr. Wowryk has considerable skills at organizing a group of people to a cause," Noonan mused, "Had she put her efforts into politics rather than organized religion, she would likely hold considerable influence in the Federation by now,"  
"Sort of like how if Charlotte had put more effort in First Officer-ing and less into picking up parasites, we'd already be at Matria Prime?" Jad said innocently.  
Charlotte, who had just finished fishing an eye-crispy out of her left eye, flicked it in Jad's direction. The captain made a revolted face and started frantically brushing at his uniform.  
"That's dis-GUSTING!"  
"If only we knew more about the situation regarding our people down on the planet," Noonan mused, ignoring the two bickering officers, "What is the optimal time of attack? Is an attack the best course of action, or can we simply blockade the Qu'Eh ships from the planet surface?"  
"I've been trying to establish a communications link to the planet," Lt Cmdr Dan Smith said from his station at security, "but all I get is 'All our representatives are currently assisting other customers,"  
Noonan turned to Vorezze, who was now trying to pull Charlotte's hair while she slapped at his face.  
"Captain Vorezze, I wish to borrow one of your Section 31 runabouts," he said.  
"Whatever!" Vorezze managed to say.

Deep below the desert sand, in the only small clinic they'd managed to find so far in Haven, Wowryk and Craigan were standing over the bed of Colonel Myress Abela. Well, technically the woman they were standing over was clone of Abela, one grown by the original to house her mind after her original body succumbed to old age. Unfortunately, her attempt to switch bodies using a Matrian SID didn't exactly go smoothly.  
"I'm glad your people decided to destroy this blasphemous technology," Wowryk said, "Can you imagine if people could just pop out of one body and into another? Escaping death, cheating our Lord?"  
"Escaping illness, disease or injury?" Craigan mused.  
"That too! The nerve! The blasphamy!"  
"She looks just like she did when we first met," Craigan said, not really paying attention to Wowryk, "Well, when she first imprisoned me. I can't believe she might not be…all there,"  
He reached out and shook one shoulder, as if to wake her. To his surprise, she stirred, then rolled onto one side.  
"Doctor!"  
"Defying the natural laws of nature! The laws set down by God himself!" Wowryk continued to rant, ignoring him.  
"Give her about five more minutes, then try again," Nurse Veeneman advised as she passed by.

Several levels under the Transit Hub, Stafford stood in a conference room just off Haven's Signal Analysis room. The chamber, easily larger in diameter than the command center, was filled with displays showing everything from sensor scans to news broadcasts, all of it being fed by the linkup to Matrian Defence HQ. Stafford was looking through the transparent wall separating the conference room from the main room itself. Most of his officers along with Queen Anselia and King Hektor had gathered.  
"Where's Wowryk?" Jall demanded, "Just because I'm first officer again doesn't mean she gets to miss the meetings!"  
"Never mind that now, we've got bigger problems," Stafford said, "The Qu'Eh could be right on top of us at any time,"  
"Which is, conveniently enough, the amount of time before the sensor contacts we've detected arrive," Lt. Cmdr Fifebee added.  
"Which means, either way, we've got to figure out how to turn this place on!" Stafford said, slapping his hands down on the table, "Simon?"  
"We've got teams diggin' through these classified levels," Jeffery replied, "Everything's still locked down, but there's some really, really interestin' stuff here,"  
"Like what?" T'Parief asked. He'd passed the egg off the Yanick for the time being.  
"Like an energy receiver big enough to channel the power of five Sovereign-class starships," Jeffery said.  
"Or like the crystal substance generating the jamming field," added Valtaic.  
"Or the computer core, which is about the size of a building," Fifebee said.  
"Whatever this place is for," Jeffery finished, "it's designed to channel a lot of power,"  
"But to do what?" King Hektor demanded.  
"It doesn't matter," a new voice abruptly cut in.  
Everybody spun to see Wowryk and Craigan leading the Abela clone into the room.  
"Holy shit!" Jall exclaimed.  
Abela was clearly awake, but her eyes were still blank. She moved stiffly, guided mostly by Craigan. He carefully led her to a chair. After a few minutes of fussing, he managed to get her seated.  
"Uh…Noel?" Stafford prompted.  
"Abela is conscious," Wowryk reported.  
"Yes, we can see that, thank you,"  
"She's still in a vegetative state," Wowryk said, "Her neuro-scans don't show anything out of the ordinary, but she's almost completely unresponsive. I thought some familiar sights might help,"  
"Great, but what about your little 'it doesn't matter' thing?" Jall said, twirling his fingers in a 'hurry-up' gesture.  
"It doesn't matter, because Jural, Laheya and I are certain that the Matrian people are ready for a full-out revolt against the Qu'Eh," Wowryk said, "And I believe the arrival of our fleet,"  
"If it's ours," Fifebee added.  
"Is the perfect time." Wowryk continued, "It is not military power that we need to defeat the Qu'Eh, it's the support of the people of Matria. We have that,"  
"I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but love and hugging and emotional support isn't going to chase those Qu'Eh ships away," Jall said sassily, "Otherwise the Matrians would have kicked the Qu'Eh out when they first came!"  
"That's what our ships are for," Wowryk said, "Whatever part Haven plays, it's not going to matter in the fight,"  
"You cannot know that," T'Parief said, "We have 12 hangers, most of which have ships capable of fighting the Qu'Eh!"  
"And most of them are buried underground!" Wowryk shot back.  
The both looked at Stafford, who looked at Anselia.  
"Don't look at us!" she said, "You people are supposed to be our experts on tactics and strategy!"  
"Scary, scary thought," Yanick muttered, rocking the egg gently in her arms.  
The arguing and discussion continued. In the din, only T'Parief was really keeping an eye on Abela. He couldn't completely explain it, but he'd seen something in her eyes the moment Craigan had mentioned something to her in the virtual world. Haven, yes. He'd told her it was time to go back to Haven, and she, just for a split second, had had a look in her eyes that T'Parief really didn't like.  
As he watched her, there was nothing in her eyes now. She simply sat there listlessly, staring blankly at the table. He couldn't say for sure, but he almost thought she was…listening.  
"Most of Matria won't know that the fleet's arrived," Anselia was saying, after nearly an hour of discussion, "Even if it goes on the rebel news net, I just don't think it will be enough of a signal!"  
"We could assassinate Chairman P'tarek," T'Parief suggested.  
"Oh yes, then the entire Qu'Eh race can declare war!"  
"We need something that just screams 'It's time!'," Wowryk insisted.  
"We are so not ready for this," Stafford said, letting his head sink into his hands. Everybody turned to look at him.  
"We've been preparing for this for what, weeks? Over a month? Getting the rebellion in place, getting ourselves setup in Haven and waiting for the fleet to arrive and make everything all better. Hell, we even found a handy missile submarine fleet!" He stood and walked back to the windows looking into the Signal Analysis chamber. On the display screens, Mistress Laurette's 'promotion' was being advertised. "There's something we're missing. And I can't help but feel that Haven…that something about this place is a big part of it!"  
"This facility was constructed hundreds of years ago, for purposes we have yet to discover," Fifebee shook her head, giving Stafford a look that was almost condescending, "It cannot have anything to do with the current situation,"  
"Can't it?"  
"Haven was built by our ancestors, under a unified and free Matrian Empire, before the Gender Wars," King Hektor said slowly, "It's the last uncorrupted example of our past, and the cultural information in the databanks is priceless,"  
"What are you getting at?" Stafford demanded.  
"Is it not obvious?" Hektor shrugged, "If you want a symbol to our people that it is time to rise up together and fight back?"  
"Activate Haven," Stafford nodded, "Which takes us right back to square one,"  
"We don't even know what it does!" Wowryk exclaimed.  
"Agreed," T'Parief said, "We don't know that it 'does' anything, other than simply exist. How can we know that it would provide the signal we wish to send?"  
"It will," Abela said softly.

There was a moment of stunned silence then a sudden eruption of chaos from the direction of the conference room. In the Signal Analysis chamber, Ensign Burke looked up from the sensor readings he was studying.  
"I think they should start serving decaf at those meetings," he said to Lieutenant Day.  
Day just shrugged and turned back to the news broadcast he was watching.

"I KNEW IT!" T'Parief roared, "YOU WERE FAKING!"  
"What?" Stafford asked, looking helpless.  
"She has been fully aware of us since we found her!" T'Parief accused, "She has deceived us all!"  
"Can you blame me?" Abela said calmly, "After nearly a century stuck in that virtual place, I'm suddenly surrounded by a lizard, an electric alien, and the rest of you?"  
"Didn't you ever hear that honesty is the best policy?" Wowryk asked.  
"This is coming from a woman who's fantasy world involved a bloody massacre," Abela said.  
"Ohhh, you…"  
"Abela?" Craigan was looking just a bit betrayed, "How…why?"  
"I simply decided to listen to what you all were saying before getting involved," Abela huffed, "It's called 'gathering intel'. Something I did for a very long time,"  
"It's not a big deal," Yanick said quietly.  
"OK, fine," Stafford waved a hand, "Let's get back on track here." He looked around at his crew, at the Matrians, at the people who'd been living underground for over a month.  
"What does Haven do?" he said, staring directly at Abela.  
Abela was quiet for a moment.  
"I'm not telling you," she said.  
"WE BEG your PARDON?" Queen Anselia declared, aghast, "As the duly elected leaders of this planet, King Hektor and We demand that you tell us!" Next to her, Hektor nodded.  
"I'm sorry, Mistress...I mean, your Highnesses," Abela even bowed slightly, "But there's more at stake here than just the next few days."  
"You left Craigan here to decide if we were suitable to have this place," Fifebee said, looking at Abela curiously, "Why do you not give us the information we need?"  
"Because you haven't passed the final test yet," Abela replied.  
"Oh give me a break!" Jall exclaimed, "You still think we're going to do…what, exactly? Try to take over your planet? News flash sweetie, somebody already did that!"  
"This isn't about the Federation, or the Qu'Eh," Abela shot back, "This is about the Matrian people, and the decisions they and their leadership make!"  
"You realize we've got Qu'Eh troops on the way!" Stafford said, "They could find us, force their way in and take this place by force?"  
"Then you better hope you make the right choices," Abela said, "But I will promise you this: If you are successful in activating Haven, it will most definitely send a very strong message to every Matrian on this planet."

Commander Matthew Noonan sat in the runabout Leno as it soared towards Matria Prime. The runabout was cloaked, thanks to illegal Section 31 technology, and he was certain that he'd be able to easily slip in and out of Qu'Eh controlled space. What he wasn't certain about was whether or not it was a good idea to let Captain Vorezze , Lt. Cmdr DiSanto and Dr. Lang tag along.  
Taking the runabout out of warp, he brought up the sensor scans of the surrounded space. As expected, the Qu'Eh fleet had grown somewhat after Silverado's defeat many weeks prior.  
"Cruisers, attack ships and a lot of fighters," DiSanto said, "We should be able to make a pretty good dent just with the Banshee alone,"  
"You're assuming the Qu'Eh have no surprises up their sleeve," Noonan said quietly, "And you must remember, in order to keep your Section 31 secrets the Banshee can only use conventional Federation technology during the fight."  
"Why would the Qu'Eh have surprises? These are corporate types," DiSanto said.  
"From all reports, they Qu'Eh are a ruthless, unrelenting enemy,"  
"Right. Just like any corporation," DiSanto said, "Going by that logic, they probably can't tell their own asses from a bunch of holes in the ground,"  
"I'm so glad we didn't bring Rachow on this trip," Vorezze muttered to Lang. She nodded agreement.  
The runabout was moving past the Qu'Eh fleet now. As they approached the planet, they also began passing Matrian and Senousian ships that had been repaired, their crews enslaved by the Qu'Eh. (Of course, they didn't know that yet.)  
"I have a Federation ship on the sensors," Lang said, "Ambassador-class. No life-signs, emergency power only. Looks to be in pretty rough shape,"  
Noonan took a brief glance. Yes, there was Silverado, drifting in orbit.  
"Ignore it," he said coolly, "That ship will not be a part of this fight."

Aboard the Qu'Eh vessel Fiscal Conservation, Chairman P'tarek sat in a comfortable office chair behind of row of Qu'Eh sensor technicians.  
"You are certain this will work, Manager Kalmers?" he said coldly.  
"Yes Chairman," Kalmers replied, "We've removed several sensor pallets from the Federation ship. We're directing them at the Evendra desert. We know there's something there; we're just tightening up the sensor focus now. The slightest energy emission will immediately be tracked."  
"It had better work," P'tarek said, "I've had enough of this nonsense. It's time to eliminate Stafford, Anselia, Wowryk and the rest of that meddlesome government and to cement our control of this planet."  
"Activating sensor sweep,"

"I'm getting some interesting readings from this Qu'Eh ship," Dr. Lang said as the Leno passed close to one of the boxy green vessels, "they're directing some pretty powerful sensor sweeps down at the planet. Right at that big desert,"  
"Didn't you say your people were hiding under a desert?" DiSanto asked Noonan.  
"I did," he said, appearing unconcerned, "However, Qu'Eh technology is less advanced than ours. They have been unable to locate the bunker in the past month, what are the odds they will do so now?"

"We're picking up an unusual energy reading," one of the sensor techs reported, "It's on the vector followed by a sensor-shielded vessels spotted by our ground troops,"  
"Excellent," P'tarek said, "Put me on the broadcast channel. It's time to explain to these people that we have the upper hand."

In Haven's Signal Analysis room, Lieutenant Day started shouting for Commander Jall's attention.  
"I'm here, stop shouting!" Jall said, stepping around one of the consoles. Following the end of the meeting, everybody had split off to their separate duties while Stafford and the Matrians met with the council. He looked up at the news broadcast, where P'tarek's face was staring out of the screen.  
"Uh-oh,"  
"People of Matria Prime," P'tarek was saying, "Finest quality to you all. I'm most pleased to announce to you the success of another initiative brought to you by the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority. Yes, this afternoon, our high-quality sensor technicians located an important item: your fugitive government. And in just a few moments, we will begin the process of liberating them from their lengthy…dislocation,"  
"Jall to Stafford," Jall was tapping his comm-badge.  
"We're in the middle of a council meeting, Jall!" Stafford's voice came back, "Go knit something! This isn't the time!"  
"You need to hear this! And I don't knit!"  
"Minister Stafford, Queen Anselia, members of the Matrian Council," P'tarek's voice was growing silky, "I know you're monitoring this message. And I know where you are. You have twelve hours to surrender yourselves and Haven to me, or I will effect a controlled demolition. Your time starts at the tone," There was a pause, then an electronic beep.  
"Surrender to us," P'tarek said, "It makes the most business sense,"

P'tarek was about to sign off when he noticed one of the sensor technicians gesturing frantically for attention. Manager Kalmers spoke briefly with the boy, then gave P'tarek a complicated gesture that roughly translated to 'Holy shit, this is important'.  
"One moment, valued employees," P'tarek said.

Aboard the Banshee, Commander Burns and the remaining officers were watching the same broadcast.  
"Now that's just rude," Charlotte said as the screen switched to a 'Please Hold' motif.  
"Right," helmsman Ben Rachow agreed, "Once you make your threats and deliver your ultimatum, you're supposed to get off the line and let your enemies sweat!"  
The hold motif abruptly vanished, returning to P'tarek's face.  
"A most fortuitous turn of events!" P'tarek smiled, "We've been given the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the seriousness of our offer. Manager Kalmers, destroy the cloaked vessel attempted to sneak onto Matria Prime,"  
"You don't think he means our cloaked vessel, do you?" Charlotte asked.  
"How many other cloaked vessels do you think are out there?" Smith replied.  
"Hail the runabout!"

"So how are you going to find your Captain anyway?" Vorezze was asking Noonan.  
"Federation sensors, even those that aren't Section 31 enhanced, can detect the installation,"  
"They can also detect Qu'Eh weapons preparing to fire!" Lang cut in.  
"Target?"  
The runabout bucked like a stung horse.  
"How did they detect us?" Vorezze demanded, "We're cloaked!"  
"They must have been upgrading their sensors! We passed right between them and the area they're scanning!"  
"Damage?"  
"Warp drive is down, shields are down, but the cloak is stable," Noonan reported calmly.  
"Random course changes, get us out of their sensor range!"  
The runabout shook again, though not as hard.  
"Near miss," DiSanto said.

"The Qu'Eh are firing at something," Burke reported, "but there's nothing on the Matrian sensor net!"  
"One of our jammer ships?" Jall asked.  
"No, we haven't sent any missions into orbit since we rescued you,"  
Jall looked around the Signal Analysis room. He could see the sensor images of the Qu'Eh vessels firing at empty space. Whatever they'd been attacking, it had slipped away from them.  
Jall twined his fingers in his hair, which was getting pretty shaggy at this point, and started pulling.  
"Ohhh, this is bad," he said, storming towards the exit.

"What are we doing here?" Stafford demanded as the turbolift doors opened onto Haven's command center, "My people have been over this place with a fine-toothed comb! Unless you're going to give us the activation codes, I have a lot of other things to worry about. Like the Qu'Eh army that's coming right at us!"  
"Do you want my help or not, child?" Abela said as Anselia and Hektor stepped out of the turbolift.  
"Hey, I'm no child!" Stafford said, following her up the stairs to the upper level.  
"You're at least one hundred years younger than I am, sonny," Abela grinned a little.  
"Look, I have a lot of work to do," Stafford shook his head.  
Abela had reached the upper level. She stood there for a moment, looking around like she owned the place.  
"Why is the command center empty?" she demanded, "Where are your people?"  
"They're all down in Signal Analysis," Stafford said, spreading his arms, "We can't do anything up here,"  
"You idiot, that's because I locked it down!" Abela crossed her arms, "The SA room is for those voyeuristic little creeps in Intelligence! This is where…why am I arguing with you?"  
"I don't know," Stafford said neutrally, "But it's nice to see you're feeling better." He couldn't help but notice that Abela had shifted rather abruptly from the listless invalid to the competent and intelligent woman Craigan had described. Or course, T'Parief was convinced that the whole 'invalid' thing had been a deception. Stafford was inclined to agree.  
"First, get your people back up here," Abela ordered, "Forget the SA room."  
"You know, I'm pretty sure 'Minister of Planetary Defence' outranks 'Retired Colonel'," Stafford said.  
"If you're in such a hurry with so much work to do, shut up and let me explain this to you," Abela snapped.  
Stafford raised his hands in surrender.  
"Here's the situation," Abela said, "Haven can't be unlocked by a single person. I changed the activation protocols." She stepped over the central holo-table, then pressed her hand against the underside of one of the six curved, triangular extrusions. There was a series of beeps, then six identical holographic hand-prints appeared, evenly spaced around the upper edge of the table. Stafford jumped.  
"Six of you," Abela said, turning to Abela and Hektor, "Six of you have to decide that activating Haven is the right thing. Both for the Matrian Empire,"  
"Republic," Hektor muttered.  
"And for the Matrian people," Abela finished.  
"But what does it do?" Anselia demanded.  
"And which six of us?" Hektor added.  
Abela looked briefly at Anselia, then turned to Hektor.  
"That's the part you'll have to figure out.  
With that, she pulled one of the chairs to the edge railing, right were it would give her a good vantage point over the dark lower windows. She sat and crossed her arms. Stafford, Anselia and Hektor all continued throwing questions in her direction, but she simply sat there, staring out in the dark main chamber.  
Her part, for now, was finished.

Jall and Stafford ran into each other in the Transit Hub staircase. They each blurted their news, then stared expectantly at each other.  
"This is a MESS!" Jall finally said, clutching his hair yet again, "We've got troops on one side, fleets on the other, rebels fighting soldiers, and now she wants us to solve a PUZZLE?"  
"In twelve hours, according to P'tarek!" Stafford shook his head, "I can't believe it! We've had so much time down here…how are we down to twelve hours?"  
"You knew things were going to speed up," Jall said, "And I doubt we have twelve hours! Now that they know our location, that army you spotted is going to be here as fast as their rides can carry them!"  
"Look, maybe I should just grab six people, go on up there and flip the switch," Stafford muttered, shaking his head.  
"Do you really think Abela would make it that easy to spend a two hundred year investment?" Jall said, "I think you're going to have to be a little more careful about the people you pick,"  
"I know," Stafford shook his head, "That's the whole problem!" He thought for a moment.  
"Evacuate all civilians from the outer rim," he said, "We'll make our stand at the hanger, then fall back to the island if the Qu'Eh overrun us. That'll buy us enough time to figure this thing out. We just need everything to stay calm long enough for us to figure this one out,"

"How bad is it?" Captain Vorezze asked nervously as Commander Noonan and Dr. Lang dug around the runabout's cramped engineering space.  
"Our shield generator has gone on to a better place," Noonan replied, "As has…whatever this is," he pulled a blackened component out of the access panel and tossed it behind him.  
"That's a Section 31 matrix oscillator," Lang said, glancing at the thing.  
"And what does it do?" Noonan asked.  
"Well…it…y'know…oscillates the matrix,"  
"Weapons will take hours to repair, our port nacelle has a very large hole in it and we are beyond lucky that the very illegal cloaking device wasn't damaged," Noonan finished.  
"Hey, that 'very illegal' cloaking device is half of what makes Section 31 so effective!" Vorezze said proudly.  
Noonan chose not to respond to that remark.  
"So, what now, oh grand and glorious fleet leader?" Vorezze crossed his arms.  
Noonan climbed to his feet. He appeared to be thinking, except that his eyes had taken on a very vacant look, sort of a 'Matthew has stepped out for the moment, back in five minutes' deal.  
"I sense that events are unfolding quickly on the planet," he said after several moments, "Many of the cities are experiencing upheaval, I believe the Matrians are attempting to rebel against the Qu'Eh,"  
"Sounds like the perfect time for the fleet to come in and take out their space support," said Smith.  
"I don't know," Noonan frowned, "When I try to focus my attentions on my crewmates, the sense I have is that they are…not ready,"  
The runabout jolted as a chunk of space debris glanced off the unshielded hull.  
"Look, screw this," Vorezze said, "I'm firing up the impulse drive. We head back towards the fleet, get the Banshee to send us a tow, get back to the ship, then come on in with guns blazing,"  
Noonan frowned. Vorezze's plan made perfect sense, but somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go very wrong.

Lt. Cmdr Riven Valtaic stepped out of the personnel exit to Haven's hanger, the only hanger that was exposed to the desert outside. He'd been among the original four officers that had found the installation, but it had been a long time since he'd actually stepped outside. The dry, dusty air immediately drew a cough, and he reacted by generating just enough of an energy field to repel the dust.  
The sky was clear and the sun was overhead. Valtaic couldn't help but feel somewhat energized to be outside after such a long period spent underground. Still, he had a job to do. Ignoring the uniformed security officers working nearby, he walked across the packed sand towards the spot where the high, sandy walls hiding Haven fell away and exposed the flat, dune-swept plains of the desert. Within minutes, he'd found his query.  
"You know, Fifebee thinks they built Haven into a large meteorite crater, then just covered up the top with sand," Stafford remarked, not turning to face Valtaic, "By the way, that field of yours is making every hair on my body stand up and salute,"  
Valtaic said nothing. He would allow Stafford to continue his pointless tirade until he was ready to come to the point. Surprisingly, it didn't take too long.  
"Take a look," Stafford said, handing him a pair of electro-binoculars.  
Valtaic peered through. Immediately, he could see the dark line of Qu'Eh troops speeding across the desert, a cloud of sand rising behind them.  
"They will be here in under thirty minutes, by my estimate," Valtaic said, alarmed.  
"Yeah, no shit," Stafford groaned, "We're trying to prepare a last-minute surprise for them, and Laheya's moved up all her rebel attacks. She's hoping that if she hits them hard in the cities, they'll divert troops away from Haven. But since P'tarek is going to destroy the place from orbit in another 11 hours I hardly see the point."  
"The crew has been in worse situations than this," Valtaic said.  
"How would you know, you've only been with us for a few months!" Stafford snapped. He immediately raised his hands, "Wait, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."  
"But true," Valtaic shrugged. It may have been the blunt truth, but in his culture that was a compliment rather than an insult.  
"Sir," one of the security officers called, "We're ready over here,"  
Stafford started walking back towards the towering hanger doors.  
"I'm going to stall," he said to Valtaic, "Maybe once Abela sees Qu'Eh troops attacking her precious f**king hide-out, she'll change her mind about her cryptic bullshit,"  
"Or you could simply make a decision and attempt to activate the installation," Valtaic said, "Choose the six people you think are best,"  
"Make a decision, huh?" Stafford said, following a narrow path that led up from the desert floor to the metal ledge than ran the width of the hanger exterior, "You trying to say something?"  
"Considering the fashion in which you attempted to select a new first officer, it seems that you have a hard time making and sticking to a decision," Valtaic said.  
"Hey, I've made plenty of decisions!" Stafford shot back. He knew intellectually that Valtaic wasn't trying to be offensive, but still! "It's just that none of them involved the fate of an entire planet before,"  
"I disagree," Valtaic said, "As a Starfleet Captain, your choices often affect entire worlds, or at least the fate of their relations with the Federation,"  
"I guess you're right," Stafford shrugged, "It's just that, well, we don't usually have such a history with the planets we deal with. The Matrians were our enemies when the crew was still learning how to work together, aboard Silverado. Now we've spent a lot more time with them then most starship crews spend with a people. Maybe a starbase commander is used to forging those kinds of connections, but not me,"  
As they reached the ledge, Stafford saw Jall, Wowryk and Jeffery standing just inside the airlock-style personnel door.  
"So, have you convinced him to do anything yet?" Jall asked.  
"No," Valtaic replied simply.  
"I could have told you that!" Wowryk declared, "Valtaic just isn't confrontational enough to goad somebody into getting their ass into gear!"  
"We can't really blame 'im," Jeffery shrugged, "We can't even figure out what we want to goad Chris into doin'!"  
Stafford rubbed his temples. Behind him, the Qu'Eh army was drawing ever closer.  
"You guys are really bad at this," he said, grinning.  
"Maybe," Jall said, "But in so many other ways, we're FAAAABULOUS!"  
"I don't care how fabulous you are right now, as long as you can shoot!" Stafford said, grabbing a phaser rifle out of a nearby crate and passing it to Jall.

Chairman P'tarek stood in the office of the Queen of the Matrian Republic, his fingers carefully interlaced. With the destruction of his flagship by the Starfleet commandos, he'd moved his office down onto the planet. He briefly contemplated the profitability of having the Starfleeters captured and mentally re-programmed to be Qu'Eh agents, then determined that the timeframe was just too uncertain. That, and mental re-programming often had the unfortunate side effect of rendering the subjects insane. Of course, if the Qu'Eh had been capable of effectively bending their enemies to their will, they would have had no need for the M-SID devices and no need to invade Matrian Space in the first place.  
Realizing he was digressing, P'tarek returned his attention to fixing up a few last-minute homey touches for his new office. The inset lighting had been turned up to full, filling the room with near blinding illumination. The marble desk had been painted over, the better to protect the lovely surface from scratches, and a real-time monitor of Qu'Eh stock values had been hung on one wall, right next to an elaborate organizational chart of the Qu'Eh Corporate Assessment Authority. P'tarek's little box was even illuminated!  
"Site Director Laheya, unescorted, thirty seconds," the cool voice of the current operator whispered into his ear via implant.  
Quickly moving back behind the desk, P'tarek seated himself and prepared for the upcoming meeting.

Mistress Laurette, former Leader of the Opposition of the Matrian Council was not having an especially good day.  
Only yesterday she'd been forcibly implanted by the Qu'Eh and now had to put up with one of their insufferable voices in her ear everywhere she went. And, according to reports carefully smuggled to her by key members of the rebellion, the device was transmitting everything she saw, heard or said back to the Qu'Eh monitors. Any contact with the rebellion was now out of the question. It was now weeks since Dr. Wowryk had gone on the planet-wide news nets and encouraged the Matrian people to fight back, the signals she'd hoped were the Federation fleet were just sitting outside the solar system and now P'tarek wanted her for another in a seemingly endless line of useless meetings!  
"The Chairman is expecting you," cooed a voice in her ear, "This meeting is rated as an 8.75/10 on the Formality Scale, and Friendly Banter is expected after the initial greeting but before you sit. Friendly Bantar during the greeting handshake is acceptable. We also recommend…"  
Laurette fought the urge to bang her head repeatedly against the marble pillar next to her. She'd tried that once, before the implant had even been installed, and all it had gotten her was a 'formal verbal warning' and two hours of useless stress counselling.  
Was this really what her people were coming to? Could it actually be that the Federation-ers were the lesser of two evils?  
"Your entrance is expected in 15 seconds, mark," said the Qu'Eh in her ear. A dull throbbing pain was starting to set in next to the implant, growing stronger for every second she delayed.  
Grunting, she walked the last few feet of the hallway and pushed her way into what had been, up until several days ago, her office.  
"Ah, Site Director, finest quality," P'tarke said, rising from behind the hideously painted desk and smiling, "I understand the school year at Matronus Downtown High School is just starting!"  
"And I understand your vasectomy went well," Laurette said sweetly, "Perhaps I can help you go a step further with a full castration?"  
There was a sharp flash of pain from her implant.  
"That comment is being appended to your permanent record!" snapped the operator.  
"Let me cut to the point," P'tarek said, "The Matrian rebels are causing considerable mayhem in cities across the planet. Your Federation fleet seems to have arrived, but is just sitting there, on top of which we've prepared a very nasty surprise or two for them. We have located Haven and targeted it with our space forces, and a small army is on its way to take possession."  
He tapped a button, activating a holographic display above the desk. Laurette was presented with a view of the desert, centered on a round, dome-shaped mountain of sand. To one side, tens of thousands of troops were quickly approaching.  
"Convince your people to surrender," P'tarek said, "I will even offer safe passage off Matria Prime to the Starfleet officers. This is a very generous severance package I'm offering,"  
"And if I refuse?"  
"Then we will destroy Haven, your King, Queen, much of your government," P'tarek said, "And then turn our attention to exterminating your rebels, with as much bloodshed as can be arranged."  
"I guess we don't have the option of forming a u-" Laurette was cut off by an unspeakably painful blast from her implant. P'tarek stepped back, as though he'd been slapped.  
"Blasphemous words, my dear," P'tarek said softly, after a moment of shocked silence, "You want to tread very, very carefully. Otherwise your usefulness, and that of your people, will come to a rather quick and very terminal end,"  
Laurette's world spun. It came down to this. After decades (centuries?) spent fighting to bring her people onto the path of strength and power in the galaxy, she was now reduced to little more than a slave, forced to obey her Qu'Eh masters on threat of what was basically torture. She had ranted against the Federation when they'd offered membership to Matria Prime, and she'd raved against those Matrians who seemed to willing to give up everything she'd fought for.  
Now, with a Qu'Eh implant against her head and P'tarek living in the Queen's office, Laurette had to admit that trying to stand alone hadn't done her much good. And yet, there'd been something in that…conversation. She'd struck a nerve with P'tarek.  
Too bad it was probably too late to do her any good.

"What are they doing?" Jall wondering, looking out at the Qu'Eh soldiers swarming towards the hanger.  
"They appear to be setting up some sort of projection device," Fifebee said. All of Silverado's senior officers had gathered outside the hanger doors, watching the Qu'Eh as Starfleet, Matrian and Senousian troops manned defensive positions.  
"I sort of figured they'd just push on in and start shooting," Jall shrugged.  
"Ohh, there will be much shooting," T'Parief almost purred as he caressed the photon mortar Lt. Cmdr Stern had just finished assembling.  
"Except we're outnumbered by about 40 to 1," Yanick said, cradling her egg.  
"Why is it that anytime you bring that thing around, I get a craving for omelettes?" Jall wondered.  
"SAN!" Yanick cried, smacking him upside the head, "That's my baby you're talking about!"  
"It's OK, we don't have any good cheeses down here anyway," Jall muttered, rubbing his head.  
There was a burst of light from the contraption, then a hologram of P'tarek and Laurette standing next to each other formed. The hologram itself was nearly thirty feet high and easily visible to everybody in the area.  
"King Hektor, Queen Anselia, Minister Stafford," Laurette started, "The Chairman has asked me to remind you that you have barely 10 hours remaining before he, er, closes down the Haven branch, and to inform you that he plans deadly corrective action measures against the Matrian people if the Matrian rebels do not cease their illegal acts,"  
"She must be joking," Stafford shook his head.  
"She's just playing the role we set out for her," Anselia reminded him.  
Laurette gave P'tarek a weary look and almost seemed to sigh. Then, she abruptly hardened her expression.  
"That is what he has asked me to say," she went on, "What I will say instead is this: Pull together, hold true and kick the crap out of these corporate fat-suckers! Try to form a-"  
P'tarek wasted no time. He drew his sidearm, aimed it square at Laurette's chest, and shot her.  
The hologram of Laurette fell to the floor, a smoking hole in her chest. P'tarek made an odd, almost religious gesture over the body.  
"Thank you, but your services will no longer be required," he intoned. His hologram turned back to face Stafford, Anselia and the rest.  
"Surrender now," he said, "This is the only offer that will allow the Haven office to remain in business,"  
Stafford, Anselia and Hektor exchanged a glance.  
Stafford smiled pleasantly and extended both middle fingers. Looking somewhat confused, the Matrian King & Queen followed suit.  
"F**k you," he smiled.  
With a snarl, P'tarek cut the connection. Immediately, the Qu'Eh troops surged forward, their weapons firing.  
Stafford and Anselia wound up ducking behind the same duranium shield as the first disruptor blasts reached them.  
"This is no place for a baby…I mean a child…I mean…my egg!" Yanick said nearby, dashing back into the Haven hanger.  
"We suspect that angering them may have been a poor idea," Anselia said.  
"Are you kidding, your highest-ness?" Ensign Simmons said, dropping in behind their cover, "We've got tens of thousands of bad guys about to try squeezing through this one little door! We can hold this position for hours!"  
"Or until we're blasted from orbit," Valtaic called from the next shield over, easing around the edge to fire into the Qu'Eh army.  
"They'd hit their own troops," Fifebee said. She wasn't even bothering to hide behind cover, as her holo-relay was inside the hanger itself. A blast of energy zipped right through her, scorching the huge hanger door behind her.  
"I love that dress, by the way," Simmons said to Anselia, "Maybe you and I could-"  
"Get back to work!" Stafford shouted, giving Simmons a firm shove in the direction of the next shield over, "Anselia, Hektor, we should really get you two back to the command complex,"  
"Call me!" Simmons called to the Queen. He sighted his phaser rifle and fired, stunning another Qu'Eh soldier.

"The attack has begun," Craigan said, watching satellite imagery on a portable Federation display screen. "The Qu'Eh are assaulting the entrance hanger,"  
"I wish you wouldn't use those alien things, Caigan," Abela said, "The communications and sensor systems were unlocked weeks ago by the Queen,"  
"The Starfleeters couldn't get the interfaces working," Craigan said, gesturing at the control pulpits.  
"Of all the incompetent fools to find this place," Abela sighed. She sat at one pulpit and tapped at the panel. "It's really quite simple! Why, even a child could…oh. Ooops. I forgot to add the sensor interface to the Prime Mistress unlock subroutine. Silly me!"  
The central holo-table flickered, the holographic image of Matria Prime vanishing. Instead, the depressed, inner surface of the table showed a holographic image of the battle outside.  
"Abela, there has to be defensive systems, shields, anti-intruder systems or something that you can use!" Craigan demanded.  
"Craigan," Abela sighed, "What's happening out there is so far from the Matria I knew that I really can't understand it. So I don't have any right to interfere,"  
"But you're-"  
"Shhhh!" Abela said, putting her finger to Craigan's lips, "Soon, Craigan. You'll understand everything soon.

"You know, I remember reading that people back in the days of the old Corporate Riots used to complain about having to deal with a faceless army of customer service reps," Fifebee said, matter of fact, as she observed the two-way phaser range taking place around her. Actually, the Qu'Eh soldiers really were faceless; they all wore identical translucent face-masks.  
"Ah think we've got them beat," Jeffery said, hunched over a half-assembled Starfleet deflector shield generator.  
The Matrian, Starfleet and Senousian defenders had excellent hit rates; after all it was impossible to fire into the mass of Qu'Eh troops without hitting one of them, the passage through the crater wall to the hanger bay had forced them to bunch up. Their body armour absorbed some of the blasts, but turning the phasers up a couple of notches had taken care of that. Still, through sheer weight of numbers, they were forcing their way closer and closer to the hanger itself.  
"T'Parief!" Jeffery shouted, "Ah think it's time to deploy that little surprise of ours!"  
T'Parief's lip jerked in a half-grin. Next to him, Simmons grabbed a control padd, then took a deep breath.  
"Unity, and law and-" Simmons started to sing, loudly.  
"Give me that," T'Parief snarled, snatching the control padd away and shoving Simmons back towards the photon mortor. He pressed the button.  
There was a deafening roar as both sides of the crater wall passage abruptly exploded. The ground shook, sending dust up into the air. As the sound of the explosion faded, the rumble of moving ground rose, hundreds of tonnes of sandy rock tumbling down and crashing to the passage floor. The Qu'Eh scrambled, but were largely unsuccessful in evading the resulting rockslide.

"Ohhh, that looks messy," Stafford said, watching the holo-display back in command center. He'd arrived with the Matrian royalty just in time to see the results of Jeffery and T'Parief's surprise plan.  
"Not very effective, however," Agent Jural said coolly. He and Mistress Laheya had already been in the command center before Stafford had arrived, "We only killed about three thousand or so of them. We lost more Matrians than that in the initial invasion!"  
Stafford looked like he'd just been slapped.  
"These are still sentient beings we're killing," he said sharply, "Which is why we're keeping our weapons set to 'stun' as much as possible!"  
"And there are many more waiting to be killed," Jural replied, "That rockslide may slow them down, but we just can't deal with the numbers they're throwing against us!"

"We need that shield up now, Jeffery!" Jall shouted, grabbing a fresh power cell for his phaser and tossing the old one over one shoulder, "They're almost here!"  
The Qu'Eh were working their way up the path to the hanger ledge, while more of them were setting up ramp-like force bridges that would allow them to march right over Haven's defensive positions.  
"Hold yer horses," Jeffery said. There was a snick sound as he connected the final component. The generator hummed to life, blinking lights appearing across its control surfaces.  
"Shield up!" Jeffery announced. A curved, hazy wall appeared between them and the Qu'Eh. The sound of Qu'Eh weapons fire faded as the shots were absorbed by the deflector shield instead of striking the duranium blast shields that had been rigged on the hanger lip. The combined Haven defence team jumped out from behind their barriers and began firing wildly into the Qu'Eh troops. The Qu'Eh had reached the shield perimeter itself, but found themselves repulsed by the glowing energy field.  
"Shield is holding," Jeffery said smugly.  
Further back in the Qu'Eh lines, Jall could see several troops gathering around a large, barrel shaped device.  
"I think the Qu'Eh are about to bring out the heavy artillery," he gulped. Sure enough, the device roared, belching out a flaming ball of energy plasma that arced high over the Qu'Eh troops, only to land flat on the force-field.  
"Shield is down to 70%!" Jeffery cried. Through the crackling energy, they could see two more devices being readied.  
Jall's eyes widened in horror.  
"EVERYBODY BACK INSIDE!" he shouted.

"Jall to Stafford! The Qu'Eh brought out the heavy guns! We're retreating inside the hanger!"  
"Confirmed," Stafford said, tapping his comm-badge. On the holo-table, they could see the tiny figures disappearing into the hanger's personnel hatch as the portable shield was bombarded by Qu'Eh weapons fire.

"POSITIONS!" T'Parief roared as he ran from the entrance hatch to one of the hanger exits, intent on getting onto one of the higher landing platforms, the better to pick off the Qu'Eh as they rushed into the hanger.  
"Oh, isn't this ever so much fun!" Jall said to Jeffery as the two followed T'Parief, "Join Starfleet, see the universe, run screaming from an army!"  
"Most ships aren't stupid enough to get involved with people who use armies!" Jeffery panted, "Besides, nobody's bloody screamin'!"  
"AHHHHHHH!" Jall screamed.  
"Ye bloody git!" Jeffery snapped, "Ye scared the piss outta me!"  
"C'mon Jeffery!" Jall said cheerfully, "Scream with me! It's great stress relief! AHHHHH!"  
"Oh, whot the hell," Jeffery rolled his eyes, "AHHHHHH!"  
"AHHHHH!"  
"AHHHHH!"  
T'Parief spun around.  
"RRRRRRRUUUUUAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!" he roared, jaws wide open, spittle flying from his teeth and fury in his eyes. Jall and Jeffery jumped back so hard they both fell to the carpeted corridor floor and scrambled backward in complete terror.  
"Oh, I apologize," T'Parief said calmly, wiping his mouth, "I thought we were comparing war-cries,"  
The hanger shook as the Qu'Eh plasma blasts struck the huge hanger doors.  
Valtaic had come up behind them as Jeffery and Jall climbed shakily to their feet.  
"How long will those doors hold?" he asked Jeffery.  
"Um, awhile," Jeffery said, swallowing, "Ah mean, the big doors will. They're solid, and Qu'Eh plasma weapons damage shields and circuitry, but aren't as effective against metal. But they could blow the personnel hatch,"  
KA-BOOM!  
"With a charge about that big," Jeffery finished.  
"HEY!"  
They turned to see Wowryk running at them.  
"Quickly! Did any of you get a recording of that Qu'Eh transmission?" she demanded.  
"Um, no," Jeffery said, "We were a bit busy,"  
"The Matrians have been recording much of these events as part of their obsession with history," T'Parief said, "Ask them,"  
"Where are they?" Wowryk asked.  
"In the main hanger, setting up a defensive position, and likely to be killed in honourable combat," T'Parief said.  
Wowryk turned to run.  
"Wait, Noel," Jeffery ran after her, "Why's this so important?"  
"Because," Wowryk said, "What do you think the Matria people would do if they saw a recording of the Qu'Eh leader killing their leader in cold blood?"  
"Blimey!'

Up in the command center, a good 1.6 kilometres from the hanger, the attack on the hanger door didn't cause the slightest tremor. But on the holo-dislay, they could see the plasma balls splashing against the angled hanger doors, burning off the paint and blackening the metal, yet not doing a great deal of damage. A stream of Qu'Eh troops suddenly started pouring into the personnel hatch, but it would take hours for their full group to squeeze through. Suddenly, the attacking force pulled away from the hanger.  
"Uh-oh," Stafford muttered. He tapped at the holo-table, but nothing happened.  
"How do I get the orbital space sensors back on this thing?" he demanded. Ensign Burke and Agent Jural looked over the controls for a moment, then pushed a button. They stared at the Qu'Eh fleet for a moment.  
"They're repositioning themselves!" Stafford said, "They're going to-"  
A bolt of light shot down from one of the Qu'Eh ships, impacting the planet. On another screen of the control pulpit, Burke pulled up the satellite view of the hanger door.  
"Near miss!" he reported.  
"They're going to breach the hanger door with their ships, then let their troops pour in," Laheya said, "Now would be a very good time for your fleet to show up,"  
"The fleet!" Stafford's eyes bugged out, "Scan the direction of the Senousan system! We were tracking a group of ships!"  
"There's nothing on the deep space sensors," Jural said, having taken over a second control pulpit and its limited sensor access, "Wait!"  
"We've got a fleet of ships coming in at Warp 9! They'll be here in five minutes!"

Aboard the bridge of the USS Banshee, Noonan stood next to Commander Burns' chair staring at the stars streaking by on the viewscreen. He'd never again sit in her chair, not after what happened the last time. The Stallion and the Champlain were visible on the screen, the tiny Constitution- and the much larger Proxima-class ships warping in ahead of the Banshee.  
"Matria Prime in two minutes, thirty seconds," Rachow reported.  
"So you've got plenty of time for a sexual encounter, assuming you could find a willing female," said Captain Velorn, the Banshee's Section 31 'guidance officer'.  
"Insults are illogical," Noonan commented.  
"The existence of this ship and this crew is highly illogical," Velorn shot back.  
"I'm getting some funny readings from the planet," Dr. Lang reported, "I think one of the orbiting ships is firing on the surface,"  
"Then we're arriving just in time to save the day," Vorezze said confidently, "It's just what we do,"  
"There's something funny about this, but I can't get a very good reading while we're at warp," Lang frowned.  
"Relax," Burns advised, "The Matrian fleet and an old Ambassador-class ship nearly beat back the Qu'Eh. We've got six Federation ships and one Section 31 ship worth all of them. What could go wrong?"

"No, no, NO!" Stafford cried, watching on the display as the ships neared Matria Prime. They were close enough now that the sensors could identify them as Federation ships. A Sovereign-class, two Excelsior-class, a Constitution-class, a Constellation-class, a Proxima-class and a Miranda-class. One more than he was expecting, but Tunney must have tossed in another Operation Salvage ship while he was waiting for a battleship. Whatever, he was getting off track.  
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Anselia demanded, "I am a politician, yet I can see that this is a formidable fleet, far more powerful than the forces we brought against the Qu'Eh last time!"  
"Agreed," Mistress Laheya said, looking relieved, "I will admit, I doubted the Federation would actually help us. I'm very pleased to be proven wrong. Coffee, anybody?"  
"The Qu'Eh have been upgrading their ships with technology they stole from Silverado!" Stafford shouted, "Jall shorted out most of our systems when he lost the ship, but they must have been able to reverse engineer some of our sensor and weapons components! Burke saw them testing a Federation-type phaser, and we know they used our sensor systems to find Haven!"  
He clenched his fists as the fleet grew closer.  
"They're warping right into a trap!"  
"We still don't have interstellar comms," Burke said, tapping at his control pulpit, "And they won't be in range of the planetary network until they drop out of warp,"  
On Abela's display, the orbiting Qu'Eh ships fired on the hanger again.  
"They hit us that time," she reported, "A couple more like that, and the hanger doors will be breached."  
"Look!" Pye said, pointing at the holographic display, "The Qu'Eh ships!"  
Except for the ship firing on the surface, the enemy fleet was repositioning itself, preparing to meet the incoming Federation fleet.  
They all stared at the holo-table as the two fleets inched closer together.  
Stafford spun to face Abela.  
"Activate Haven," he demanded.  
"You activate Haven," she said coolly, "I've already told you haw to do it,"  
Stafford ran one hand against the underside of the table. As before, six palm-shaped, holographic authentication points appeared around the table's edge. He stared at them, saying nothing. The Matrians and Starfleet officers in the command center stared at him, waiting for him to make a decision, to choose the six people that he felt could unlock the potential of the huge installation the Matrians had hidden away for centuries. Choose six people. It sounded so simple, didn't it? They had most of the Matrian government hiding in the Transit Hub right now. Haven's computers could tap right into the HQ security database, see their access levels, and in theory it would open right up. But Abela had made it abundantly clear that this was a test. This decision wasn't just about finding six people who could unlock Haven, it was about finding the exact six people that should. That choice would either demonstrate to her that, together, the men and women of Matria and their Federation allies were ready for what their ancestors had left for them two centuries ago. Or that they weren't.  
How could he make that decision?  
After another moment of silence, the holographic palm-prints faded out, replaced by the standard holo-table controls.  
"The Federation fleet is dropping out of warp," Burke reported.

To be concluded…

Next: After 25 stories, Matrium Uprising comes to a climax in 5.15: Termination Part 2. Will Stafford make up his mind? Will Haven do what everybody hopes it will do? What's going through Dr. Wowryk's mind, and could she hold the key the Matria Prime's salvation? All this and more coming up next!


	15. Termination - Part 2

Star Traks: Silverado

5.15 – Termination: Part 2

"I really don't see how a voice-over is necessary. We haven't had one in ages, and at this point if people aren't following…what? What do you mean voice-overs are a contractually-mandated obligation of season finales? Speak Standard! Fine, very well.  
"Hello, I'm Dr. Noel Wowryk. Previously, on Star Traks: Silverado…wait. How can this be Star Traks: Silverado if we lost the ship ten stories ago? Oh. Now I have to start again."  
"Previously, on Star Traks: Silverado, the final confrontation against the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority finally began. Using stolen Federation technology, the Qu'Eh located the secret Haven installation and dispatched an army of Customer Service soldiers to take it. In orbit, the Federation relief fleet is on the verge of arriving, but they don't realize that the Qu'Eh have also stolen Federation weapons technology. Captain Stafford has to choose six people to unlock Haven and save it from the Qu'Eh, and on top of that, I'm now stuck chasing some Matrian historian in the hopes that he managed to record the Qu'Eh leader murdering one of the Matrian leaders in cold blood."  
"Now, it's going to be a very busy day. Leave me alone so I can get back to work!"

Captain Jad Vorezze sat comfortably in his command chair on the bridge of the USS Banshee, Commander Burns to his left, Captain Velorn to his right and Commander Noonan standing off to the side.  
"Matria Prime in 30 seconds," Lt. Cmdr. Ben Rachow said from the helm.  
"Red alert," Vorezze ordered. The red lighting immediately started flashing on the Banshee's bridge as the klaxon started wailing.  
"All decks confirm battle stations," Lt. Cmdr Dan Smith reported.  
"All ships, this is the B…the B…um, the Medusa," Vorezze said, thumbing the comm panel on his chair and remembering just after the last second to use the Banshee's false name. (The Banshee had been reported as being destroyed as part of their entry into the ultra-secret Section 31.) "Prepare to drop out of warp on my mark,"

A short distance away, also speeding towards Matria Prime, Captain Elizabeth Simplot had just called for red alert.  
"I can't believe we're actually taking this old bucket into a fight," First Officer Iron Kren said, shaking his head, "I mean on purpose,"  
"Aww, this old girl?" Simplot said, affectionately patting her chair, "The Stallion's seen rougher days than this."  
"Yeah, mon!" added Lt. Cmdr Bianca Sinclair from Operations, "They don't make 'em like dis anymore!"  
The ship shuddered and a panel dropped from the upper display of Kren's Environmental Control console.  
"With good reason," he replied, picking up the panel and snapping it back into place.  
"The Medusa is signalling," called Lt. Cmdr Hurken from tactical, "We're dropping out of warp in ten…nine…eight…"  
Kren's panel clattered to the floor again.  
"All…I mean…most decks report ready for battle," Kren said, slamming the panel back into place.  
"All right," Simplot took a deep breath, "Arm phasers, ready photon torpedoes,"  
"Three….two…one…"  
"Take us out of warp,"

The Qu'Eh fleet eased through the space above Matria Prime, hundreds of kilometres above the Evendra desert. In many ways, it was a mirror image of the scene that had played out so many weeks ago. This time the Qu'Eh vessels were taking up defensive positions between the planet and an incoming fleet, rather than playing the part of the attackers. The greenish ships with their boxy lower section and broad, table-top upper sections very much resembled a fleet of giant clipboards hanging in space. The smaller support ships had taken up positions around the larger cruisers and Qu'Eh fighters were already taking up formation. Only one Qu'Eh ship wasn't part of the fleet; instead, it was firing down on the surface, attempting to breach Haven's hanger doors.  
Aboard the recently declared new flagship Fiscal Conservation, Manager Kalmers, pulled temporarily from the attack on Haven, watched the screen carefully, waiting for his Federation foes to show themselves. He'd studied the battles against Silverado carefully and had familiarized himself with every known nuance of that design. After all, the Federationers were a reasonably intelligent company; surely their ships would be carefully designed to be as uniform as possible.  
With a series of bright flashes, the Federation fleet dropped out of warp, mere kilometres from the Qu'Eh. The USS Banshee was the center of the formation, with the two Excelsior-class ships, the USS Montreal and the USS Vendome, taking up positions to either side, the Proxima-class USS Champlain above alongside the Constellation-class USS Elfman. At the bottom of the formation was the Miranda-class USS Stouffer and the Constitution-class USS Stallion. No sooner had the ships dropped out of warp than their phaser banks came to life, spearing out and impacting the Qu'Eh shields. The Banshee's complement of Peregrine-class assault fighters soared from her shuttlebay in pairs and immediately began engaging the Qu'Eh fighters.  
Aboard the bridge of the Banshee, Vorezze was watching the tactical displays carefully as the Qu'Eh fleet opened fire.  
"Multiple impacts," Smith reported as the ship shook from the Qu'Eh weapons.  
"Shields are holding and at 95%," DiSanto added.  
"How are they holding AND falling 5%?" Burns demanded.  
"Well, we have our actual shield strength, and what our shields would be at if they weren't enhanced with illegal Section 31 technology," DiSanto explained.  
"All ships report minor shield damage," Smith continued, "The Montreal and the Vendome are moving towards the Qu'Eh flanks, the Stallion and the Stouffer are trying to get past them for planetary scans,"  
"See?" Vorezze said, leaning back with his hands behind his head, "This is going to be a snap,"

Aboard his ship, Manager Kalmers was busy picking his jaw up off the floor. He`d been completely unprepared for the sleek, blade-like Federation ship that had burst out of warp, trailing various escort vessels and launching fighters. The two identical Federation ships, the ones that looked like supply boats with saucers attached were moving to the sides, firing at his ships the whole time. Another large vessel, this one with a huge, circular saucer, twin cylindrical secondary hulls and four rectangular warp nacelles, was raining down punishment on one of his cruisers. Not a single ship matched the design of the Silverado! His ship shook again as the blade-like lead ship opened fire again.  
"Kalmers to Chairman P'tarek," he opened a channel, "Chairman, we have engaged the Federations. Preliminary assessment indicates a significantly higher battle-quality rating than the one we gave Silverado,"  
"Not unexpected," P'tarek said calmly, "Switch to your new weapons. I will order our people here on the planet to release their own…surprise,"

Vorezze was knocked out of his seat as the Banshee bucked like stung horse.  
"Shields are down to 70 and 68%!" Smith cried.  
"I'm reading Federation weapon signatures!" Dr. Lang reported from the science station, "They've been upgrading their ships with our weapons technology!"  
On the screen, the Montreal took a number of phaser hits to her port nacelle, her shields barely able to fend off the attack.  
"The Stallion is reporting energy surges from the planet!" DiSanto called, "They've got planetary disruptors powering up down there!"  
"Ohhh, pooey," Vorezze muttered.

The mood was sombre in Haven's command center. The lighting was still dim, the display screens and control pulpits were mostly dark, though a few had limited functionality. The light from the dimmed lumen-panels and the central holo-table gleamed softly on the red-patterned wall panels and the stone-patterned floor. On the upper level, next to the holo-table Christopher Stafford, Starfleet Captain and Matrian Minister of Planetary Defence, watched on the holo-table as the two fleets engaged each other.  
"Get a channel open to the lead ship!" he ordered, pointing at the tiny holograms. Now that the ships were close enough for their transponders to be detected, the lead hologram was now labelled USS Medusa in tiny, glowing letters.  
"Hold on," Burke said, "I'm still getting used to this…does anybody know how you spell 'shore-to-ship channel' in Matrian?"  
Every Matrian in the command center raised his or her hand. Grabbing the nearest one, Burke got to work.  
There was an electronic-sounding 'SWEERPPPP!' and an unfamiliar bridge appeared on Burke's screen.  
"You've reached the Ban…um…the USS Medusa," said the slim, unfamiliar officer wearing Captain pips, "This is Captain Jad Vorezze. Who the hell are you?"  
"Captain Christopher Stafford, USS Sil…um…I mean Haven base," Stafford replied, unable to hide how relieved he was to see another Starfleet officer, "Captain, the Qu'Eh have Federation-"  
"We know!" Vorezze cut him off as the 'Medusa' shook hard, sparks flying from the ceiling, "They've also got planetary disrupters, and they're firing them all RIGHT AT MY SHIP!"  
"Those are Matrian property!" one of the council members snapped sassily.  
"Well, these Qu'Eh buggers are borrowing it!"  
"The Qu'Eh are concentrating their fire on the Medusa," Burke said, "Even a Sovereign-class ship can't take that kind of punishment for long!"  
"Contact Leader, I mean, Commodore Hylin," Stafford ordered, turning to Laheya and Jural, "send her the coordinates of those disrupter sites and have her destroy them,"  
"Those are MATRIAN property!" repeated the council members.  
"If they knock down our ships, the whole planet is going to be Qu'Eh property!" Vorezze snapped from the screen.  
Another figure moved onto the screen.  
"Captain Stafford,"  
"Noonan!" Stafford almost laughed, "Matt! Thanks for bringing us a fleet!"  
Noonan inclined his head.  
"Of course. But Captain, the Qu'Eh fleet is inflicting considerable damage on our ships," Noonan had an odd look on his face, almost…confusion? Stafford couldn't recall ever seeing THAT particular expression on his imperturbable former officer's face. "If there is…something else…you can do to help us, now would be a good time,"  
"We're…working on that," Stafford said.  
The bridge of the Medusa/Banshee rocked again.  
"OK, enough chit-chat!" snapped Vorezze, "Our tactical officer has some bad guys to blow to pieces! No Vince, when I said 'blow' I wasn't…don't be so sensitive! Anyway, Banshee out." The channel closed.  
"Banshee?" Stafford scratched his head.  
The channel abruptly re-opened.  
"I mean Medusa! Medusa out!"  
click  
Stafford shook his head.  
"I wonder what that was all about,"

Mere meters below the Matrian ocean, Lt. Bith was seated in the C&C chamber of a two-hundred year-old Matrian naval submarine. She was trying very hard to convince herself that a sub was no more dangerous than a starship. Safer, even. At they depth they were at, she could open a hatch, swim up to the surface and frolic in the warm ocean with no harm, no foul.  
She'd almost convinced herself when a drop of condensation dripped square onto the middle of her forehead, causing her to yelp in terror and tumble off her chair.  
"Problem?" asked Heto, the Matrian male assigned to command this particular sub. Being part of the 'primitive' tribe of Matrians the Hazardous Team had found, Heto was dressed only in a skimpy loincloth, with his long hair pulled back in a ponytail that flowed down his tattoed back. Bith couldn't help but find the image of him standing in the middle of an advanced submarine armed with antimatter missiles to be completely ludicrous. But she also couldn't help but find it extremely erotic.  
"Ahem, um, no," Bith blushed. He helped her to her feet, his touch almost electric. She felt a literal tingling on her chest, right above her heart.  
"Your communications device is vibrating," Heto intoned.  
"Oh! Oops!"  
"This is Haven to Commodore Hylin and all naval vessels," came Agent Jural's voice, "Deploy, deploy, deploy. Authorization gemet, irrada, irrada, teren. Standby to receive coordinates."  
"Game time," said Heto as he programmed the target coordinates into the missile computers. Bith could hear Jural passing on more coordinates to Hylin. Within seconds, the order came to fire.  
"Firing," Heto said calmly. They watched the status screen, listening to the sounds of the missile hatches opening. Their sub shook as a series of missiles driven by impulse engines and armed with antimatter warheads, launched from their tubes and began arcing towards the captured Matrian planetary defences.  
"You're very calm about this," Bith said, trying to make conversation.  
"We've been waiting for a very long time to do something that might help our people to be free, rather than perpetuating a pointless war," Heto said, "If we succeed in repelling the Qu'Eh, my people's exile on that island will have been for good reason,"  
"That is sooo interesting," Bith said dreamily, looking deep into his eyes, "But now that we're out of missiles, what do we do now?"  
Their hands touched.  
Three guesses what happened next.

"The planetary disruptors have been destroyed," reported Kren aboard the USS Stallion.  
"So has our port nacelle!" Sinclair cried out, "Shields are down to 10%!"  
"Get us behind the Medusa!" Simplot ordered, "Shurgroe, can you do that funky shield recharge trick you and Jeffery came up with?"  
"Um, no," Shurgroe's voice came over the comm, "That requires that we take a little less than the beating we're currently taking. Shurgroe out."  
"He's unusually calm," Tereneth called from the helm as she struggled to pilot the ship back around the Qu'Eh fleet.  
"I ordered Dr. Annerson to slip tranquilizers into his breakfast burrito," Simplot admitted.

"The Stallion reports that the planetary disruptors have been destroyed," reported Smith.  
"But they took one hell of a beating!" added DiSanto.  
"We have the advantage of mobility, we are not trying to defend a stationary target as the Qu'Eh are. Have all ships break away and take up a parabolic course around the planet," Noonan said, "It will buy us time to recharge our shields. We can then loop back and re-engage,"  
"It'll buy the Qu'Eh time too!" Vorezze said, "And for all we know, they could have more reinforcements on the way!"  
"I realize this," Noonan said. That strange look was back on his face, "But I sense that time is what is needed right now."

Wowryk was nearly knocked off her feet as the hanger bay shook. The outer door groaned as Qu'Eh weapon's fire crashed down on it from orbit. One section of the multi-faceted door was already glowing red, a very bad sign. She had been running through one of the corridors that looked down into the bay, then had turned onto one of the walkways that made up the bridge/ramp system that would give her access to the movable landing platforms and the Matrian crew that was setting up a defensive position. Jeffery was right on her heels.  
Grabbing at the railing, she briefly contemplated the three-level drop to the hanger floor before resuming her trek. A small group of Qu'Eh troops had forced their way through the small personnel door next to the hanger doors, but the rest of the enemy army had pulled back to avoid being hit by the orbital weapons barrage.  
The hanger shuddered again, this time throwing Wowryk roughly against the railing.  
"BOLLOCKS!" Jeffery shouted behind her.  
Wowryk turned just in time to see him tumbling off the side of the walkway. His hands flailed for the railing, only to miss.  
"SIMON!" Wowryk shrieked, throwing herself at him just in time to grab one ankle. Jeffery found himself suspended over the hanger floor.  
"Stop squirming!" Wowryk yelled, trying desperately to maintain her hold on his ankle, "You're too heavy!"  
There was a deafening crash. Both Jeffery and Wowryk looked over to see one segment of the massive hanger door fall outward, hitting the ground and sending up clouds of sand. Qu'Eh troops would be pouring in within seconds, and Jeffery was a perfect target!  
Less than twenty meters away, Wowryk could see the Matrians she had been looking for, each hunkered down behind the edge of the landing platform and aiming a phaser rifle down at the main deck. If T'Parief was right, they had recorded Chairman P'tarek murdering Mistress Laurette in cold blood, an act that would incite even the most complacent Matrian into open rebellion. But if she didn't get the recording up to the command complex, that wouldn't happen!  
"Jeffery, you can survive this fall," Wowryk called to him, "You just have to be sure you don't land on your head!"  
"Noel, that's sort of a problem right now!" Jeffery screamed, dangling as he was, head down, "Ye can't let me fall!"  
Strategically, letting Jeffery drop was the thing to do. He would likely survive, she would be able to get the recording and all would be well.  
"Noel! Ye can't!"  
Wowryk loosened her fingers. Jeffery started dropping.  
Reflexively, she tightened her grip, just before his foot slid out of her grasp. She couldn't do it. Logic and strategy and the good of the many and all that crap aside, she couldn't do it. She couldn't cut Jeffery loose again.  
Again?  
Before she could pursue that line of thought, one of the Starfleet shuttles that had been parked on the main deck eased into the air, taking up position under Jeffery and slowly ascending. Jeffery rolled onto the upper hull of the surface with a cry of relief, then jumped back onto the walkway. Inside the shuttle cockpit, Valtaic gave them a wave. Neither of them had seen him leap into the shuttle when Jeffery had fallen.  
Jeffery seized Wowryk in a brief hug, then held her at arms length.  
"That's me girl," he said, giving her a lopsided smile.  
Wowryk swallowed, then started running towards the Matrians.

"T'Parief to Stafford," T'Parief shouted, trying to make himself heard over the sound of phaser fire, "The Qu'Eh have breached the hanger doors! We're being pushed back from the hanger!"  
"Fall back into the outer rim," Stafford shouted, "See if you can lead them away from the tram station!"  
"That's going to make it a little hard for us to get back to the island!" Jall shouted from next to T'Parief.  
"If all goes well, we'll have this place on-line by the time you get to the next tram station," Stafford replied, "If it doesn't, well, there won't be much point in you coming back here anyway,"  
"Ohh, this SUCKS!" Jall shouted.

From fortified positions on the main floor, on the adjustable landing platforms, and from sections of corridor that had had their windows removed, Matrian, Senousian and Starfleet troops fired their weapons down into the endless throng of Qu'Eh 'Customer Service Agents' that were now pouring through the breached hanger door. Now that they were inside the hanger instead of out in the open, the Qu'Eh were ducking for cover as quickly as possible, hiding behind support struts, shuttles and those forward defences that had fallen quickly. Up on the first platform, Wowryk threw herself to the deck just as a Qu'Eh blast seared past her head.  
"Did you record P'tarek's message?" she demanded, crawling next to the Matrian section commander, "Did you get him killing Laurette?"  
"It's right here!" the Matrian shouted back, digging into her utility belt and handing Wowryk a data chip, "What are you doing with it?"  
"I'm going to broadcast it to the whole planet!" Wowryk said. The Matrian nodded in approval, then grabbed her arm.  
"Laurette was trying to tell us something," she said, "I'm pretty sure that's why P'tarek killed her!"  
"What?" Wowryk cocked her head. Before she could ask the Matrian what she meant, one of the Qu'Eh fired a photon mortor towards the platform.  
"GO!" the Matrian shouted, shoving Wowryk towards the walkway. Wowryk and Jeffery sprinted down the walkway towards the relative safety of the corridors, the Matrian team close behind them. There was a deafening explosion, and Wowryk felt what seemed like a warm hand pushing against her entire back, sending her flying through the open doorway to the corridor and onto the carpeted floor, where everything went dark.

In the Haven command complex, Captain Christopher Stafford, Queen Anselia and King Hektor were gathered together on the second level. Up in the command deck, Ensign Burke, Lieutenant Fifebee and Sylvia were still calling status reports.  
"The fleet has gone to full impulse," Fifebee reported, "They're swinging around to the far side of the planet, towards one of Matria Prime's moons,"  
"Most of the Qu'Eh fleet is breaking off to follow them," Burke added.  
"The Stallion is having a hard time keeping up," Fifebee added, "They've taken heavy damage." She brought up a detailed scan of the Constitution-class ship. One nacelle was heavily damaged, leaking plasma from a half-dozen places. Her saucer and engineering hulls were both pocked with scorch marks and one impulse engine was clearly only operating at half-power. "I don't think she's going to last long!"  
"We've still got one enemy ship in orbit," Burke said, "But they've stopped firing on us,"  
"Because they've already opened the door for their troops," said Mistress Laheya, "Now they think it's just a matter of time,"  
"With the number of Customer Service Agents we've got pouring into the hanger, it will be," Jural said.  
Next to him, Colonel Abela, retired, was looking over the railing and watching Stafford, Anselia and Hektor with a look of great interest.

"It can't just be any six people," Stafford said, referring to Abela's statement that it would take six people to unlock Haven, "We've got to choose them carefully. That's the whole puzzle right there,"  
"We are aware of this," Anselia said briskly, "But what six?"  
"Six from your government, obviously," Stafford said, "I mean, probably cabinet members, right? This is a government installation, after all,"  
"But Abela is military," Hektor pointed out, "Clearly this was meant to be a military establishment. Perhaps we should have Agent Jural bring some of his compatriots here,"  
"She did say the Signal Analysis room was for Matrian Intelligence," Stafford nodded, "But what about Admiral Verithi? She's the head of your Defence Force,"  
"She is also a captive of the Qu'Eh," Anselia said, "I doubt we have time to find her,"  
Stafford shook his head.  
"How are we supposed to do this?" he snapped, his frustration becoming evident, "There are a few billion people on this planet, and I'm supposed to find SIX?"

Wowryk and Jeffery regained consciousness on a cold, hard surface.  
"Ahh, Dr. Wowryk, how good to see you again,"  
That voice. Wowryk wasn't sure where she'd heard it, but she knew she'd heard it before.  
Wincing, she opened her eyes and tried to sit up.  
"Careful there, Doctor," the voice said, "You've taken a bit of a hit. Really, I didn't mean to nearly blow you up. In fact, I didn't want to be here at all. But the Chairman insisted I beam down and take personal command of this mission. Anyway, at least you were luckier than those poor Matrians that were right behind you,"  
Wowryk looked around. Next to her, Jeffery was also regaining consciousness. They were on the main floor of the hanger bay, which had grown oddly quiet. She realized that the defensive stations around the main floor and in the upper corridors had all gone silent. The Qu'Eh had taken the hanger. And they'd apparently taken her hostage. She finally found the source of the voice: Manager Kalmers.  
"Your people have put up an excellent fight," Kalmers was saying, "In fact, I've already made a recommendation that your defensive measures be rated '4 – Business Excellence'. Of course, your capture will lower your quality rating a bit, but that booby trap with the crater walls? Ohh, that was inspired! My troops would have been so pleased to know that their deaths were of such high quality!"  
"You're a sick, sick man," Wowryk groaned.

A few levels up, T'Parief and Valtaic were watching the scene as it unfolded.  
"We need to get Wowryk out of there," T'Parief said quietly, "She has information that must make it to the command complex,"  
"And Jeffery?"  
"His rescue would be…preferred,"  
Valtaic thought for a moment.  
"The shuttle seems undamaged," he said, pointing down at the shuttle he had used to rescue Jeffery. A stream of Qu'Eh troops were marching through the breached hanger door and into the corridors of Haven itself, but the shuttle was largely ignored, "If you can distract the Qu'Eh, I will use the shuttle's transporter to free Wowryk and Jeffery,"  
T'Parief considered this.  
"The Hazardous Team is stationed at the tram station, while the bulk of our forces try to lure the Qu'Eh into the outer rim of the facility," he said, "Can you beam us that far into the interference field?"  
"I believe so," Valtaic replied, "however, the shuttle's transporter can only handle two people at a time,"  
"Acceptable," T'Parief said, rising to his feet.

"No, I don't think the group has to be perfectly balanced between men and women!" Stafford insisted, "Gender doesn't matter! It's irrelevant!"  
"Not on Matria, it isn't!" Hektor shot back, "Gender equality has been the driving force behind our culture for over two hundred years!"  
"But what better way to show that the genders are equal than to discard them as criteria of judgement?" Anselia pondered.  
"Oh, that is SUCH a load!" Hektor and Stafford shouted.  
Up on the upper level, Abela sighed. This wasn't looking good.

"This is what needs to happen," Manager Kalmers was saying, "You will contact Minister Stafford. You will tell him to cease hostilities, both by your fleet and by the rebels. He will then turn over this installation to the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority. We will permit the Starfleet officers and the Senousians to depart. But Matria Prime is ours."  
"And if I refuse?" Wowryk asked. She was carefully moving one hand to her pocket. YES! The chip was still there!  
"Then we will destroy Haven. I understand it's the last source of Old Matrian culture in the galaxy," Kalmers said, "I'm sure your new friends would hate for that to happen."  
There was a burst of phaser fire behind her. Kalmers gestured at…whatever it was, then returned his attention to Wowryk. She had almost turned to see what the commotion was about, but as it turned out, it was a good thing she didn't. If she had, she wouldn't have seen the dark form of Valtaic as he snuck towards the shuttle.  
'STALL' he mouthed at her.  
"If you let me use my comm-badge, I will contact the Captain," she said, thinking quickly.  
Kalmers nodded.  
Wowryk contacted Stafford and explained the situation.  
"He wants WHAT?" Stafford demanded.  
"He wants you to call off the fleet, to order the rebels to stand down and to surrender Haven," Wowryk repeated.  
"And call off the lizard!" Kalmers added, pointing behind Wowryk. She finally turned, only to see T'Parief clutching one Qu'Eh as a human, er, Qu'Eh shield while he phasered another.  
"And he'd like T'Parief to stop his rampage," Wowryk added.  
"That's ridiculous!" Stafford snapped, "Even if I did order the fleet to stand down, which I doubt they'd do, I don't have any power to tell the rebels what…to…"  
Stafford trailed off.  
"That's it," he said quietly, "Noel, I'm sorry. I have to go,"  
"Minister Stafford!" Kalmers called, "If you don't surrender now, I assure you, the consequences will not be conducive to a positive business environment!"  
Stafford had already cut the channel. Behind Wowryk there was a loud roar, followed by several Qu'Eh screams.  
"ALIEN!" Kalmers shouted, pulling out a weapon and aiming at Wowryk's face, "Surrender now, or I will kill her!"  
T'Parief spun around, pointing his weapon at Kalmers.  
"Hurt her, and you will not live to your next performance review!" T'Parief said coldly.  
Kalmers paled slightly, but didn't back down.  
"Then we have a stand-off," he said, "How shall we resolve this, alien? A battle to the death? Perhaps a boardroom debate? Or, if you like, I can prepare a PowerPoint presentation on the benefits of cooperating with the Qu'Eh."  
Wowryk and Jeffery suddenly dissolved in a shower of transporter sparkles.  
"I think not," T'Parief said, firing at Kalmers. Kalmers dodged, the beam barely missing him. T'Parief bolted into the corridor, trying to evade the dozens of Qu'Eh troops that hadn't yet disappeared into the corridors.

"That's it," Stafford said quietly, "Noel, I'm sorry. I have to go,"  
He closed the channel.  
"If he injures Dr. Wowryk," Anselia started.  
"I don't think he will," Stafford said, "He wants a hostage. Besides, I know what we have to do now. Or rather, what I have to do,"  
Anselia and Hektor looked at him expectantly.  
"You Highnesses," he said, "We came here, myself and my crew, to help with Matria's entry in the Federation. We're sort of new at that kind of thing, so are your people. And it didn't help that your planet was invaded,"  
"Well obviously," one of the councillors commented from the level above.  
"We wound up working very closely together," Stafford went on, "Far more so than is normal for a starship crew and a people. You put me in your government and you gave me and my people a lot of power over the defence of your planet. We used Wowryk to organize the rebellion against the Qu'Eh. I'm not even going to go into where this fits in with Starfleet regs, things get pretty hazy where member words are involved."  
Stafford paused to take a breath.  
"But the truth is, I don't have any business making this decision for you," he continued, "I'm a Starfleet officer, and a Federation citizen. And that means that I'm here to help you and support you any way I can. But when it comes to your own people, your own culture, and your own place in the universe, I have to step back. Because Federation membership isn't about controlling our member worlds. It's about working with them. My people are here to do whatever it takes to support you and your place in the Federation, but we're not here to tell you what to do with your own civilization. We didn't force you to join the Federation, and we're not going to impose our will on you now."  
Stafford looked at Anselia and Hektor, then at the council members that had gathered. Finally, he looked at Abela.  
"It's not easy," he said, "But it's time for you to again decide your own fate,"  
Anselia considered this for a moment, then stepped forward.  
"We accept your resignation as Minister of Planetary Defence, Captain Stafford," she said. It was first time since the invasion that she'd used his proper rank. She turned to Hektor, "My King, ladies and gentlemen, gentlemen and ladies, this is indeed a decision that should be made by the people of Matria. However, I would like to propose that, as a member world of the United Federation of Planets, we include a Federation representative, to offer their advice while we carry out this discussion,"  
"Seconded!" called one of the councellors.  
The vote was quickly carried.  
"Captain Stafford, I hereby name you an Advisor to the Matrian Council of Governors," Anselia said.  
Stafford nodded. Sometimes, compromise was the best you could hope for from a situation. And as compromises went, sticking him in an advisory role was pretty damned good.  
"Now," Anselia said, "let us decide this matter, and quickly."

Wowryk gave a yelp of surprise as she materialized in the tram station next to Jeffery. She immediately found herself surrounded by phaser rifles.  
"Oh, it's you," Stern said, lowering his rifle, "We thought maybe the Qu'Eh were trying to beam troops in here,"  
"Do ye still have the chip?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Right here," Wowryk said, patting her pocket.  
"What chip?" Marsden asked curiously.  
"The recording of P'tarek killing Laurette," Wowryk said.  
"Why did he do that, anyway?" Stern wondered.  
"Noel," Jeffery pulled on Wowryk's arm, "The Matrians in the hanger, before they died-"  
"They were saying the same thing," Wowryk nodded. Now that she had a chance to stop and think, she really did have to wonder. Why kill Laurette? Why now? She'd been cooperating with the Qu'Eh since the invasion, and they'd seen fit to 'promote' her in their own organization. So why kill her? Wowryk said as much.  
"More than that, why kill her and broadcast it right to us?" Marsden asked. As the team's hostage negotiator, he had slightly more psychology training then the rest, "I mean, that's not the kind of thing that's going to get the Matrians to surrender, right? I mean, you want to use this to start an even bigger uprising!"  
"Exactly!" Wowryk said, "So why did he kill her,"  
"Let's watch the recording," Marsden said, pulling out a padd.  
They watched as Laurette spoke, defying P'tarek's orders to tell the Matrians to surrender. Suddenly, P'tarek pulled his disruptor out and shot her.  
"Whoah, back that up and freeze it," Rengs said. They watched the still frame, right as P'tarek began to reach for his weapon.  
"He's panicking!" Marsden said, "Look at his face!"  
Indeed, P'tarek's expression was a combination of shock, horror and fear.  
"He didn't plan on killing her," Jeffery said, "It was a…a knee-jerk reaction!"  
"But why?" Wowryk asked, "She disobeyed him, yes, but that can't be enough! The blowback from this recording, there's no way killing her is worth it!"  
"What was she saying?"  
The played the recording back again.  
"Try to form a-" Laurette managed to say, right before P'tarek shot her.  
"A conga line?" Simmons offered.  
"An alliance," Stern said, "Has to be. She wants her people to ally with as many races as possible to defeat the Qu'Eh.  
Wowryk was shaking her head.  
"No," she said softly. Suddenly, she jumped up.  
"We need to talk to one of the Qu'Eh!" she snapped, grabbing two phasers and a tricorder and moving back towards the exit, pulling Jeffery along with her, "Stern! Whatever you do, don't let the Qu'Eh make it to the island!"  
"Um, OK," Stern shrugged, "That was the plan anyway,"  
"Doctor!" Marsden called as the doors started closing, "What is it!"  
"I know how to end the invasion!"

Jeffery wasn't sure what Wowryk had in mind, but it apparently had something to do with confronting part of that small army of Qu'Eh CSAs that had forced their way into Haven. And somehow, he really didn't think that two of them against several thousand Qu'Eh, with tens of thousands more waiting outside, was such a good idea.  
"Noel, what's this all about?" he asked as he followed her.  
"We need to find a Qu'Eh or two and lure them closer to the center of the facility!"  
"Ye mean like bait?"  
"Wowryk to T'Parief," Wowryk tapped her comm-badg.  
No reply.  
"Last Ah saw, he was a bit busy," Jeffery commented.  
"Wowryk to Valtaic,"  
"Valtaic here," the alien's voice was soft, "I trust you and Mr. Jeffery are safe, Doctor?"  
"Aye, but we need a hostage!" Jeffery spoke up.  
There was silence for a moment.  
"Doctor?"  
"Not a hostage," Wowryk shook her head, "But we need a prisoner. Preferable someone who's being forced to serve the Qu'Eh but isn't actually one of them,"  
"That shouldn't be hard," Valtaic said, "I have examined some of the stunned soldiers and found several different species,"  
"Can you beam one to us?"  
"I am no longer in the shuttle," Valtaic said, "beaming you away peaked Qu'Eh suspicion, and I was forced to flee. Commander Jall and I are presently four levels below the main hanger level, attempting to evade capture."  
"Can you lead the gits chasing ye to the tram station?" Jeffery demanded.  
"I have been trying to lead them away from the tram," Valtaic replied, sounding very annoyed.  
"Change of plans."

"Change of plans?" Stern asked as Wowryk and Jeffey came running back into the tram station.  
"Either that or this was the shortest bright idea you've ever had," Simmons commented.  
"Other than setting up a confessional in Counselor Yvonnokoff's office," Rengs added.  
"Ye could say that," Jeffery said, diving around the corner of the tram station atrium and onto the platform itself. A moment later, Valtaic and Jall vaulted over one of the three security stations, tucked, rolled, then scrambled for cover.  
"As requested, here are several Qu'Eh soldiers," Valtaic said, nodding at Wowryk. Wowryk tapped at her tricorder.  
"We're deep enough into the interference field," she nodded.  
"OK, now what?"  
"Attention Qu'Eh troops!" Wowryk shouted, "This is Dr. Wowryk,"  
The Qu'Eh weapons fire doubled in intensity.  
"You're so popular!" Jall giggled.  
Wowryk shot him a dirty look, reached down to the back of his trousers, grabbed his underwear waistband and yanked. Jall gave out a shriek of surprise (and pain) as his tighty-whities ripped off, coming free in Wowryk's hand. She quickly attached the shredded remains to the butt of a phaser rifle and started waving her improvised white flag in the air.  
The men looked at her in shock. Stern took an involuntary half-step back.  
"I didn't know she was that strong," Jall whimpered, tears in his eyes.  
The Qu'Eh weapons fire was slowing.  
"How do they even know what a white flag means?" Jeffery asked.  
"It came up in one of the assessment sessions we had on Silverado, when we were captured," Wowryk said.  
"What are the terms of your proposed merger?" one of the Qu'Eh called.  
"First, we want some information," Wowryk called out, "But before that, there's something you need to know. Essential situation update, you could say,"  
"What's that?" the Qu'Eh leader called back.  
"Well, Haven has a field that interferes with all alien communications and sensor technology," Wowryk shouted, "Which means those lovely little implants fused into the sides of your heads aren't working right now."  
There was a moment of stunned silence, then a fury of weapon's fire.  
"Way to piss them off, Doctor!" Kreklor snarled.  
"They're not shooting at us!" Jeffery realized.  
Stern and Wowryk peeked around the corner, looking towards the Qu'Eh troops. Several of them, including the leader, were now unconscious on the deck while the others were dropping their weapons and tearing off their face masks.  
"Please!" one of them begged, his bright green skin marred on the left side by implant scarring, "We surrender! We'll tell you anything you want! Just don't make us go back to the call centers!"  
"Come with me," Wowryk said.

Stafford once again stood on the command deck next to the central holo table, contemplating the six palm-shaped authentication points. Well, no. He was only contemplating the one. His point, the one that he would press his hand against, hopefully activating Haven.  
The Matrians had made their decision. Six people had been chosen. Queen Anselia and King Hektor had been the easiest, most obvious choices. As the ruling pair, they represented the new gender equality that Matria Prime had finally reached after centuries of conflict. Next had been Craigan, there to represent the Old Matrians and the history of their people. The next three had been more difficult. Abela had been suggested almost immediately, however she had flatly refused. The council instead chose Stafford, meant to represent Matria's new ties to the galactic community. Not ties of aggression or conquest, as Mistress Laurette had tried to form during the long hibernation of the Matrian women, but ties of support and cooperation. Finally, Agent Jural and Mistress Laheya had been chosen to represent both the current Defence Force and those original FAMINE rebels that had started the rebellion against the Qu'Eh.  
The six of them stood around the holo-table while the rest of the room held their collective breaths.  
"Very well," Anselia said, standing next to one of the palm prints, "Two hundred years ago, our people hid this place, leaving it to future generations in the hope that we would have moved past civil war, past strife and inequality and back into an age of cooperation. We, Queen Anselia, elected leader of the Matrian Council and citizen of the Matrian Republic, feel that that hope has been realized. Haven represents an investment by our ancestors. The time has come to spend it,"  
With that, she pressed her hand against the holographic palm print. The hologram flashed, an odd, echoing tone sounding through the command complex. The pie-shaped segment of the holo-table next to Anselia turned green. Next to her, King Hektor likewise pressed his palm to the hologram. Another tone sounded and another segment of the table turned green. One by one, the others followed suit. As the final point was authenticated, a clear tone sounded through the chamber. The table abruptly went black, then a single icon appeared dead center, a line of Matrian text beneath it.  
"Fifebee?" Stafford asked.  
"Roughly translated?" Fifebee shrugged, "It is the 'on' switch."  
Now Colonel Abela stepped forward. She was smiling widely and her eyes were wet.  
"I can't tell you all how long I've waited for this," she said, sniffling a little, "My people, finally united. I've been wanting to share this with you for over two hundred years,"  
With that, she reached into the hologram and activated Haven.

"I'm reading a power spike!" Fifebee called, eyeing her Matrian sensor device, "A very, very large power spike!"  
All around them, the display screens and control panels were coming to life. Down on the second level the ring of huge display screens flickered on, displaying security footage from all over Haven. Images of the empty Transit Hub, the Qu'Eh controlled hanger, the tram station, even an exterior shot of the damaged hanger door. With a low humming sound, the main lighting kicked, in, curved illumination panels in the ceiling lighting the complex.  
"This is more like it!" Ensign Burke exclaimed happily.  
"Look!" Abela called, pointing out one of the lower windows and into the main chamber. Stafford, Fifebee, Sylvia and the rest of the officers bolted for the stairs, running around the second level then down to the lower level and the walkway around the turbolift column. Peering down through the windows, they could see the twelve towers surrounding the command tower lit up like Christmas trees. Further down, lights were coming on at ground level, illuminating the six tram routes emerging from the Transit Hub. Past the Hub itself, more towers on the central island were coming to life, towers that they'd been cut off from due to the lack of breathable atmosphere in the main chamber.  
"Look at the lake!" Sylvia pointed.  
Lights were coming up on the six bridges arching over the lake, illuminating the curved arc of the bridge support struts. The lit surfaces were reflected in the smooth waters, just now beginning to ripple as the complex came to life.  
And it didn't stop there.  
Across the lake, much closer than they'd expected, another tower lit up, it's colourful, brightly lit windows reflecting in the water. And another, and another. Whole clusters of buildings were coming to life all over the cavern as streetlights and antigravity tracks powered up at ground level. Finally, nearly a mile away in all directions, the outer rim of the facility came to view, its surface lined with row after row of lit windows.  
"Oh my God!" Stafford breathed.  
"It's…it's a city!" Anselia said, shaking her head, "All this time…it's an Old Matrian city! Untouched by the war…by the devestation…"  
Abela was smiling.  
Behind them, the turbolift doors hissed open and Jeffery, Wowryk, Jall and a single Qu'Eh soldier stepped out.  
"Captain, I know how to…" Wowryk trailed off, looking out at the panoramic vista, "Oh…"  
"Wow," Jall said, eyebrows raised.  
Jeffery's mouth had dropped.  
"Uh, hi guys," Stafford waved, not turning away from the view. "We found the 'on' switch,"

Back towards the hanger, T'Parief was in full stealth mode. He'd kicked off his boots, the better to pad silently through the carpeted corridors, and was controlling his breathing. He'd led the Qu'Eh troops on a merry chase around the corridors and chambers surrounding the hanger, but now it was time to go after his main target; Manager Kalmers, the man who seemed to be in charge of the Qu'Eh army. Luckily for him, the Qu'Eh were now running into the same problem the Silverado and Matrian personnel had found: Haven was just too damned big. Even with the hanger door blasted open, the bottleneck prevented them from getting enough troops in to fully secure the area around the hanger. It wasn't helping that the Qu'Eh troops were chasing after every enemy they saw, allowing the defending team to lure them into spreading out throughout the outer rim. T'Parief himself had managed to lead nearly two dozen enemy troops into the workshop several levels above the hanger, then lock them inside.  
Now, he was sneaking towards the hanger control booth, certain that Kalmers would be inside. Sure enough, there were a pair of guards standing next to the double doors. All he had to do was sneak up quietly and hope they didn't noticing him in the dim lighting.  
There was a rumbling sound, then the lights in the corridor abruptly switched to full strength. T'Parief winced, covering eyes that were too used to the dim lighting. Ahead of him however, the Qu'Eh were screaming in pain. Apparently they had some kind of light amplification built into their facemasks.  
Not one to miss an opportunity, T'Parief sprinted at them then jumped, the nearer guard being crushed under his body weight while he reached out with his thick hands to strangle the life out of the other. Quickly finishing, he reached towards the doors, preparing to force them open. To his surprise, they hissed open automatically, revealing Manager Kalmers. The Qu'Eh was staring intently at one of the control pulpits, which was now unlocked and displaying a complete status report on its main display.  
"Hold it right there," T'Parief said, pulling out his phaser.  
Kalmers spun around, pulling his weapon and firing. T'Parief ducked, the shot hitting a display screen behind him and shattering it. He returned fire, but Kalmers had ducked around the pulpit, his back to the window looking into the hanger. Bolting up the steps to the pulpit, T'Parief fired again. This time, the window behind Kalmers blew out, raining shards of transparent material to the main deck. T'Parief expected a shower of return fire from below, so he was somewhat surprised when only a few scattered shots came. Looking down, he saw that a force field had appeared across the damaged door, cutting off the invading army. His lack of focus nearly cost him his life as Kalmers brought his weapon around for another shot. T'Parief barely managed to avoid the beam, taking only a singed burn to one bicep rather than being disintegrated. While he was evading the shot, Kalmers brought one hand down on a control panel. Outside, the adjustable landing platforms came to life, moving randomly up and down their tracks. T'Parief lunged at Kalmers, only to miss as the latter threw himself out the window and at the nearest platform, barely catching hold of the edge and pulling himself up and over. With a roar, T'Parief followed.  
That's when the whole hanger started to shake.

"What are you doing bringing HIM here?" Stafford demanded, pointing at the Qu'Eh soldier that Wowryk had brought into the command complex. Nurse Veeneman had come up with one of the SM-BIRD gadgets and was removing the implant from the man's head.  
"He's not a Qu'Eh," Wowryk explained, "He's enslaved, the same as the Matrians,"  
"Then we're fighting an army of unwilling slaves?" Stafford bit his lip, "Uh-oh,"  
"Well, it's about 50/50," the man said.  
"Um, they're still trying to kill us," Jall pointed out, "I mean, is it really that different from fighting the Borg?"  
"We don't have time to worry about it now," Stafford sighed, "Look, now we know what's going on. Haven is a city. We need to keep the Qu'Eh away from it long enough to…I don't know. It must have defences, right?"  
"Still looking!" Lieutenant Pye called from the command deck, "I think I've got emergency force fields over the hanger door, but there's a lot to go through here!"  
"About that," Wowryk pulled out the data chip, "We need to broadcast this to the entire planet. More than that, I know how to end the Qu'Eh invasion! If Haven really is a city, then it probably has exactly what I need!"  
"I do not believe Haven is a city," Fifebee said calmly, still looking at her Matrian sensor.  
"What?" Stafford demanded, glancing out at the brilliantly lit buildings filling the cavern.  
"The power spike I detected?" Fifebee said, "It is still growing. Whatever Haven is supposed to do, I believe it will do it in about ten seconds."  
Stafford turned to Abela, who smiled.  
"Surprise!" she laughed.  
Stafford clutched at the railing as suddenly the entire command complex started shaking. Down in the Transit Hub, piles of supply containers were tumbling to the floor, dishes were shaking off the tables in the Matrian restaurant and confused civilians were looking around like the sky was about to fall in. In the outer rim Qu'Eh, Starfleet, Matrian and Senousian troops stumbled around as the decks shook all throughout the base.  
In the command complex, everybody covered their eyes as a brilliant beam of sunlight broke through the sand covering the upper windows. The sand was pouring off the domed ceiling of the complex, revealing the clear, sunny blue desert sky outside. Looking out into the cavern, Stafford could see a widening beam of sunlight shining down on the central island as sand continued pouring off the cavern ceiling, which he could now see was a crystal clear dome.

Aboard the USS Stallion, Captain Simplot was getting very worried. They'd managed to get their shields back up to 60% or so, and most of the Qu'Eh fleet was off chasing the Federation fleet around the moons of Matria Prime. The Stallion was only concerned with a single Qu'Eh ship, the one holding orbit over the Evendra Desert. They were exchanging pot shots as the Stallion tried to lure the Qu'Eh away from Haven, but the Qu'Eh were having none of it.  
"Captain," Lieutenant Gonzolaz called from the science station, "I'm picking up a huge energy surge on the planet!"  
"On screen!"  
The screen flickered to life, showing an aerial view of the Evendra desert. At first, it seemed like any other patch of desert, with acre after rolling acre of sand. Suddenly, something seemed to move under the surface, then the sand abruptly split, revealing a clear dome. In the center, looking tiny compared to the overall size, was a pod-shaped structure with six big windows. The sand kept pouring down the dome as the object heaved itself to the surface. Beneath the dome, they could see a cluster of buildings surrounded by a rippling lake. As the sand continued to pour down, they could see dozens, possibly hundreds of buildings encircled by a thick grey rim. Soon, a thick, dome-covered disk was hovering over the surface of the desert, held up by a network of massive support struts hovering on anti-gravity units the size of football fields.  
"Holy shit!" Tereneth exclaimed.  
"The Qu'Eh ship is moving into firing position!"  
Simplot didn't even hesitate.  
"Take us in!"

"Energy readings are off the scale!" Fifebee called, struggling to be heard over the deafening rumble of falling sand.  
"Captain!" Pye called. Stafford looked up, to see him pointing at one of the big displays on the second level. It showed a Haven-sized disk hovering over a sandy crater, the inside of which now was filling with sand as it poured off the city. The floor of the crater was lined with a network of massive, glowing anti-gravity units, which were mirrored in the strange framework supporting the city. Bolts of energy crackled between the opposing systems as the city hovered, the last of the sand pouring off the domed surface.  
"Haven is not a city," Abela said smugly, "Or, perhaps I should say, it's not JUST a city,"  
There was a blinding flash of light on the display as Stafford and the rest were thrown to the deck.

Deep under the city, huge geothermal energy units sucked heat from the planet's mantle, converting it to energy at a staggering rate. Storage units, held at limited levels for hundreds of years, had started building to critical levels the second the activation sequence had been started. Energy was already pouring into the antigravity units used to force the city up from under the desert, but their power demands dropped rapidly as the weight of the sand poured down off the dome. At both the center of the city and of the crater, identical devices were sucking up all the available power, building up to the energy levels needed.  
With a blinding flash of light a brilliant beam of energy lanced out of the crater, spearing the center of the city dead on. The massive energy receiver array sucked in every watt of available power, splitting it, channelling it and sending it surging into the propulsion array ringing the outer rim of the city.  
Breaking free of the support scaffolding and riding a dazzling beam of energy, Haven heaved itself into the sky.

"Chris!" Jeffery called, clutching one of the railings.  
"What, Simon?" Stafford called back.  
"Ah think we're flyin'!"  
"Flying? FLYING?" Stafford looked over at Abela, "IS THIS THING SUPPOSED TO BE FLYING?"  
Abela was laughing hysterically.

Aboard the Stallion, Simplot was also holding on for dear life as her ship shook around her.  
"Return fire!" she ordered, "All weapons!"  
Phasers and torpedoes shot out of the Stallion's weapons array, impacting the Qu'Eh ship.  
"Their shields are weakening!" Kren reported.  
"But ours are down to 40%!" Hurken added.  
"Stallion to Stafford!" Simplot shouted, tapping at the panel. She frowned. "The guy running the show down there is Stafford, right?"  
"I'm pretty sure," Sinclair said, "He's the Silverado human. The one with the unfortunately flat ass?"  
"Right, that one," Simplot nodded. She repeated her hail.  
"Stafford here!" the screen came to life to show a Starfleet captain in a faded uniform clutching at a railing. Behind him, Simplot could see a sunny blue sky and a rapidly receding horizon, "We're a little busy down here!"  
"And we're a little busy up here," Simplot shot back, "Trying to keep the Qu'Eh from blowing you up! You are the guy in the flying Frisbee, right?"  
That caught his attention.  
"Captain Simplot," he said, "Under no circumstances are the Qu'Eh to fire on Haven! Dr. Wowryk is convinced we can use this thing to end the war, but my people tell me we won't have enough power to use Haven's shields until the engines cut out!"  
"And how are you ending the war?"  
"I don't know! She hasn't told me yet! But keep the Qu'Eh off us, by any means possible!"  
The signal cut off. Now Simplot could see the disc-shaped city on the display, a beam of energy still connecting it to the planet.  
"Haven is passing an altitude of twenty kilometres," Gonzolas reported.  
The Stallion rocked again as the Qu'Eh ship fired.  
"Bring us around for another pass!" Simplot ordered, "And get the rest of the fleet over here! We need some help!"

After leaping to the landing platform, Kalmers had immediately taken cover behind the Senousian scout that had been parked there. T'Parief dove into a roll as he hit the platform, narrowly missing another weapon's blast. He ran to the scout, flattening himself against its hull and waiting to see if Kalmers was going to come around after him. Outside the breached hanger door, he could see wave after wave of sand pouring by, the roar of it nearly deafening. As the sand thinned and faded however, he was certain he could hear clanging footsteps, footsteps that were growing fainter.  
Growling, he rushed around the scout only to see Kalmers running down the walkway towards the exit leading to the surrounding corridors. T'Parief was about to fire his phaser when the entire hanger bucked, knocking T'Parief to the platform deck. His phaser flew out of his hands, skittering across the deck and over the edge of the platform. Ahead of him, Kalmers was tossed right off the walkway, his weapon also disappearing into the deck clutter. The platform had descended to its lowest level and was just beginning to ascend again, so the enemy leader found himself landing painfully on the roof of a runabout rather than splattering across the deck. He rolled off the runabout then bolted towards the shattered hanger door and, presumable, the Qu'Eh weapons crate sitting near their entry point.  
T'Parief flung himself off the platform before it could go any higher, landing in a crouch on the deck. He sprinted after Kalmers and was completely shocked to see the desert floor quickly receding outside the hanger door as Haven rose into the air. He was so shocked, in fact, that he didn't notice when Kalmers, ignoring the distant weapons crate, suddenly reached down and snatched up a chunk of metal support strut and swung it around, catching the reptilian officer in the side. T'Parief was positive he could hear the snap of breaking ribs as pain shot through the side of his body. Kalmers swung again. This time, T'Parief took the impact on his arm, fracturing the bone but at least protecting his injured ribs. Reaching down for his own chunk of debris, T'Parief was barely able to block the third shot.  
Regaining his balance, he easily parried the fourth shot. He and Kalmers were now duelling right next to the force field that had sprung up over the hanger door. The alien was strong!  
"T'Parief to Stafford," he gasped, barely able to afford the time to tap his comm-badge, "Deactivate the force field over the hanger!"  
"T'Parief?" the voice came back, barely audible over the rumbling of the base, "I don't think that's a good-"  
"DO IT!" T'Parief roared, lashing out at Kalmers and sending the alien stumbling back.  
The field fizzled out of existence. Instantly, there was a rush of wind as the near sea-level air pressure of the base met the thinner, high-altitude air outside. Kalmers and T'Parief stumbled, each being pulled towards the jagged hole in the door. Kalmers took a roundhouse swing at T'Parief, knocking him off balance and sending him tumbling out the hanger door.  
T'Parief dug his claws into the metal ledge running the length of the hanger exterior, barely managing to keep himself from going over. The view was unbelievable! Haven was now kilometres in the air, the Evendra Desert now a sandy smear on the landscape far below. The curvature of the horizon was already visible, and as the wind whipped at T'Parief he could, more then ever, sense the upward movement of the giant base.  
He flattened himself against the outer surface of the door just as Kalmers swung out onto the ledge, amazement visible on his features as he found himself confronted with the view.  
"Surrender," Kalmers shouted, trying to regain control of the situation, "I promise you will have no more than a formal written warning appended to your file!"  
T'Parief simply swung his metal beam at the alien's head.  
Kalmers ducked, lashing out at T'Parief. The two of them parried and thrusted for nearly a minute, both careful to stay far back from edge of the ledge. The air was still whipping around them, but it was rapidly thinning. Kalmers was slowing, his mouth open as he gasped for air. T'Parief, with his more hardy constitution, was merely feeling winded.  
Kalmers brought his beam around in a desperate attempt at a headshot, leaving himself wide open. T'Parief blocked him, then kicked out with one taloned foot. The movement was incredibly painful, his ribs burned as if on fire. But Kalmers flew back, tumbling over the edge of the hanger lip. At the last second, he managed to cling to the edge with both hands, but now he was now hanging over empty air as Haven soared higher and higher.  
"I submit!" Kalmers cried, "I offer my Qu'Eh Corporate Authority stocks and bonds!"  
T'Parief stood over him, his beam ready to deliver the killing blow.  
"Perhaps I could work for your company!" Kalmers tried, "I have excellent management skills, and my-"  
"Silence, filth," T'Parief said. He leaned down, so the alien could hear him in the very, very thin air. "Many Starfleet officers believe that by sparing one's enemy, one can foster good will and future relations," he spat to one side as he said his, "Others believe that there is honour in sparing a worthy adversary,"  
Kalmers looked up at him, fear in his eyes.  
"I however, believe that letting your enemy live only gives him another chance to sink a knife into your back," T'Parief said, baring his teeth, "But don't worry, your death will be swift,"  
With that, he swung his metal beam like a golf club. The tip impacted Kalmers' temple, shattering the bone and killing him instantly. His fingers spasmed then released, sending his body falling towards the planet he had helped conquer.  
"After all," T'Parief said, tossing the beam over the edge and heading back inside, "I'm not an animal,"

"We just passed twenty kilometres," Fifebee announced. Rather than continue gawking out the windows like most of the Matrian council, she'd taken up station at one of the now-unlocked and fully functional control pulpits, "The Stallion has engaged the Qu'Eh ship. The rest of the fleet is still out near one of the moons; they will not arrive until after we've cleared the atmosphere.  
"Jall," Stafford said, "I want you to find every pilot we have and get them to the hangers! We've got dozens of small Old Matrian ships that can make a difference in this fight!"  
"On my way," Jall said, running down to the turbolifts.  
"You will have to fight your way past the Qu'Eh soldiers," Valtaic pointed out.  
"Nothing's perfect," Stafford grinned. With that, Valtaic took his own panel and started trying to contact security teams.  
"OK Noel," Stafford said, turning to Wowryk, "Whatever this plan of yours is, I think we better put it into play. Now."  
"We have most of the Matrian councillors here, right?" Wowryk asked, cutting right to the chase.  
"Right there," Stafford pointed. The councillors were all clustered on the lower level, staring in amazement at the city.  
"Good," Wowryk said, "And I need as much communications bandwidth as we can spare, and enough comm consoles for all of them!"  
"Easy," Colonel Abela said, "The Signal Analysis room has all of that,"  
"Uh, Noel," Stafford said, "We sort of had a little talk before you got here. I'm not ordering the Matrians to do anything. Neither are you. This is their world, and whether or not they follow your plan or not is their decision."  
"Personally," Hektor cut in, pulling his eyes from a display that showed the Stallion and a Qu'Eh ship exchanging fire, "I'm eager to hear Dr. Wowryk's plan."  
"We all are," Anselia agreed.  
"So spill it, Doc," Stafford said, "What's this bright idea of yours?"  
Wowryk looked briefly at the former Qu'Eh she'd captured, then smiled.  
"I wasn't sure it was going to work until I had the chance to talk to…Hassin, was it?"  
"Yup," Hassin nodded.  
"But he's familiar with Qu'Eh regulations," Wowryk went on, "We don't even need a 100% vote, just a big enough sample size to show that the population is in favour of-"  
"WHAT'S THE PLAN?" Stafford, Anselia and Hektor demanded.  
"Simple," Wowryk smiled, "the Matrian Republic is unionizing!"  
Stafford's face was blank for a moment, then his eyes bugged out.  
"BURKE!" he shouted, "get ready to transmit! All frequencies! Noel, get over here! You've got a signal to send!"

Aboard the USS Banshee, Commander Noonan stepped calmly to one side to avoid a flaming chunk of superstructure as it slammed to the bridge floor.  
"Direct hit on Deck 1!" Smith cried out, "Dorsal shields are down!"  
"180 degree roll!" Vorezze ordered, "Keep them away form that area!"  
"PLEAAASE?" Charlotte was begging, "Can't we PLEAASSE use just ONE Cataclysm torpedo?"  
There was a flash on the screen as one of the Champlain's four warp nacelles was blasted free, spinning into space then exploding against a Qu'Eh ship.  
"The Montreal and the Vendome are still harassing the Qu'Eh flanks!" DiSanto reported.  
"Any updates on the Stallion?" Vorezze demanded.  
"Not since they called for help a few minutes ago!"  
"We need to get around these Qu'Eh bastards before we can get back to the planet!" Rachow reminded him from the helm.  
"Dr. Lang, is the jammer ready?"  
"Just about!" Lang tapped at her panel, "NOW!"  
"Activate!" Velorn ordered.  
Wowryk hadn't been the only one to realize that depriving the Qu'Eh of their implanted slaves would be a great way to get an advantage. The Banshee's deflector dish glowed brightly, sending out waves of interference, more then enough to jam the channels they'd detected as using Qu'Eh traffic.  
Abruptly, the captured Matrian and Senousian ships broke free of the fight, pulling as far away from the Federation fleet as they could and fleeing at top speed.  
"What, they couldn't stick around to help us against the bad guys?" DiSanto demanded.  
"The Qu'Eh had those ships on the front lines," Smith said, "they took the heaviest damage."  
"It's better than a kick in the teeth!" Charlotte agreed.  
"We're getting a signal from Haven!" Carn reported.

All over Matria Prime viewscreens changed over to the government emergency broadcast channel. The rebels had avoided using it after Wowryk's first message, considering how easily that one had been traced. But with Haven fully exposed, now was the time. Matrians had already gathered around viewscreens in their homes, at their workplaces and even in the streets as the rebel propaganda channel showed footage of a massive, unidentified object launching from under the Evendra Desert. The Qu'Eh controlled channels were oddly silent, claiming nothing unusual was happening. But as the hacked observation satellites zoomed in on the object, it was clear to everybody watching that not only was an entire city now rocketing towards space, but that the architecture was of a form that hadn't been seen on Matria Prime since before the Hibernation.  
Now, Dr. Noel Wowryk appeared on the screens, flanked by Queen Anselia and King Hektor. Behind her, the people could see a brightly lit command center.  
"People of the Matria Republic," she said, "Greetings from the Old Matrian city of Haven. Your government, along with the leaders of the Matrian Rebellion and Starfleet officers from the USS Silverado, have been hiding in this city since the beginning of the Qu'Eh invasion. We've kept this place a secret from the Qu'Eh, knowing that it could hold the key to defeating them."  
"In that, we were wrong,"  
All over the planet, people were exchanging confused looks, even as more and more people gathered around the screens.  
"The secret to defeating the Qu'Eh isn't held here in Haven, or in the Federation fleet that even now is attacking the Qu'Eh forces. It's in all of you. And now we know how to harness it! First, however, I regret to inform you that Mistress Laurette, who has served the people of Matria Prime well as she pretended to cooperate with the Qu'Eh, has been brutally murdered by the Qu'Eh leader, P'tarek."  
The view abruptly cut to a video recording of two holograms, clearly being transmitted by a Qu'Eh device. The Qu'eh army and the sides of the sandy crater were visible around the edges. The entire planet watched in horror as P'tarek pulled out his weapon and shot Laurette.  
The view cut back to Wowryk.  
"The Qu'Eh have unwittingly shown us their greatest weaknesss," Wowryk went on, "They killed Laurette the instant they realized they might share this secret with you! And it is simply this; the Qu'Eh are here because they need slaves. They need 'employees' to fuel their corporate machine."  
"And there is nothing a heartless corporation fears more than unionized employees!"  
A comm-code started flashing beneath Wowryk's image.  
"So, call up your Council representative, care of the City of Haven, and vote 'YES' to the unionization of the workers of the Matrian Republic! Operators are standing by!"  
The message began to repeat.  
All across the planet, excited Matrians exchanged glances, then rushed to the communications systems.

Aboard his ship, P'tarek's eyes widened in terror.  
"NOOOOO!" he screamed, "P'TAREK TO ALL SHIPS! DESTROY HAVEN! BLOW IT OUT OF THE SKY! EMERGENCY PRIORITY!"

Aboard the Stallion, the situation was getting even more grim. Several panels had blown out and the old ship was groaning with effort as Tereneth tried to out-manoeuvre the Qu'Eh ship. Wowryk's transmission had been cut off and ignored the moment it begun as the crew tried to keep their ship in one piece.  
"The Qu'Eh ship has stopped firing," Sinclair reported.  
"And a whole bunch more are on the way," Gonzolas added, "They've broken off their attack on the Federation fleet and they're coming right at us! ETA, five minutes!"  
On the screen in front of them, Haven was just clearing the Matrian atmosphere, the energy beam still surging between the planet and the discus-shaped city. The buildings beneath the dome gleamed in the light of the Matrian star, the lake roiled with white-capped waves as the water churned under the vibration of the engines. The Qu'Eh ship pulled away from the Stallion, setting course directly for the city.  
"Follow them!" Simplot snapped.

"The comm-channels are flooded with calls!" Wowryk said, eyeing one of the control pulpits, "They're all being routed to Signal Analysis! As soon as we have a big enough sample size, we can declare the Articles of Unionization. Um, how are those coming, by the way?"  
"We're working on it!" Anselia and Hektor said, drafting the legislation at a speed that was almost unheard of.  
"We're leaving the Matrian atmosphere," Fifebee replied.  
"I've got the Qu'Eh and Federation fleets on sensors," Burke reported, "They're changing course, coming right at us!"  
"Can we raise the shields yet?" Stafford demanded.  
There was a sudden SWUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPP as something very big powered down.  
"The energy beam from the planet has shut down," Fifebee reported, "Engines are now operating off of internal power. If we raise shields before we attain a stable orbit, we may lose engines and end up crashing back into the planet!"  
"Stafford to Jall," Stafford called, "Are our ships ready?"  
"Jall here!" the other officer yelled. The sound of weapon's fire could be heard in the distance, "We're trying to get into Hanger 4, but the Qu'Eh aren't making it easy!"  
"Captain!" Burke shouted, pointing out the window.  
Stafford spun around to see a Qu'Eh cruiser heading straight for the command complex.  
"They're on a collision course!" Fifebee said, "Impact in two minutes!"  
"Evasive maneouvers!" Stafford called out.  
"This is a city, not a starship!" Lieutenant Pye called from a pulpit displaying engine controls and orbital trajectory data, "A course change will take at least ten minutes!"  
"Fifebee, the shields?"  
"We're at least four minutes to a stable orbit!" Fifebee replied.  
"If that ship crashes into us, a stable orbit won't matter!"  
"SIR!" Burke shouted again, "LOOK!"  
"For the love of," Stafford cursed, spinning back towards the window.  
The USS Stallion soared over the edge of the city, traversing the dome in seconds. Her secondary hull passed mere meters over the command complex, sending everybody diving for the floor. Streams of plasma and gas spilled from a dozen breaches in her hull as she unleashed another round of weapons fire against the Qu'Eh ship.  
"HOLY CRAP!" Jeffery screamed.  
"I'm getting transporter signatures in Hanger 6," Fifebee reported, "They're Starfleet!"  
"Simplot to Stafford," the comm channel rang, "If you're actually capable of raising your shields, which I highly doubt, now would be a very bad time!"  
There was a hum and a shower of transporter sparks as Simplot and her bridge crew materialized in the command complex.  
"Captain Simplot!" Stafford exclaimed, "What are you-"  
"Shhh," she shushed him, putting one hand on his arm and turning to watch the Stallion, "Just watch,"  
The Stallion ploughed into the Qu'Eh ship head on, her saucer shattering like a dropped plate as it struck the Qu'Eh ship's hull, knocking the other ship off of its collision course with Haven. Her engineering hull and twin nacelles slammed into the enemy ship like javelins, her warp core detonating in a blinding flash of light. Haven shook, buffeted by the explosion. But when the space around them had cleared there was no sign of either ship.  
"Captain Simplot," Anselia said, stepping forward, "I speak for the people of Matria Prime when I say, thank you,"  
Simplot smiled sadly, still watching the last known position of the Stallion.  
"You're welcome," she said.  
"We've attained a stable orbit," Fifebee reported, "The engines are offline; power is being redirected back to citywide systems."  
"Raise shields," Stafford ordered, "Tell Jall to start launching ships as soon as we can. Oh, and does this thing have any weapons?"

Matria Prime was in revolt.  
Across the planet, from Matronus to J'Taeria to Bevindale, Matrian citizens were taking to the streets. Laheya's rebels had already been engaging the Qu'Eh on as many fronts as possible, but now the enemy forces found themselves confronted with enraged citizens. Thousands of comm calls were going up to Haven, most being answered by a very hastily rigged recording system, but enough going through to the actual council members themselves to convince even the most sceptical of Matrians that it was no joke, that their government really was back and that they really did have a plan to oust the alien invaders.  
In orbit, the battered Federation fleet chased after the Qu'Eh ships as they soared towards Haven.

Aboard his ship, P'tarek was rapidly losing his self control. On his screen he could see the blue and green orb of Matria Prime, above which hovered the thick disc of Haven. Ships were beginning to spill from several hanger bays evenly spaced around the exterior. Inside the transparent dome he could see the glimmering spires of the city.  
"Destroy it," he ordered.

"I don't think I've ever seen a battle from this perspective," Stafford said, shaking his head. Outside the upper windows, he could see the Qu'Eh fleet taking up position. A holographic overlay had appeared over one window, the one nearest Fifebee's panel. As she scanned the various ships, tiny boxes of text appeared next to each of them, detailing their status and capabilities.  
The Qu'Eh ships opened fire, the energy bolts spearing through space and crashing against Haven's shields. The command complex rumbled slightly. Stafford squeaked, flinching back. There was something about seeing capitol-ship-sized energy blasts striking shield mere meters from his face that was terrifying on a whole new level. T'Parief had just emerged from one of the turbolifts looking somewhat battered and bloody, and had taken one disinterested glance at the city spread out below them before takig up position next to Pye.  
"Shields are holding," Burke reported.  
"Pye, have you found the weapons yet?"  
"Um…Um…" Pye was sweating, "I found the torpedo launchers!"  
"Fire torpedoes!" Stafford ordered.  
"Um…"  
Stafford turned to Abela.  
"Let me guess," he said darkly.  
"Well, they were supposed to be delivered the Tuesday after the rebels destroyed Old Matronus," she shrugged.  
"Phasers? Disruptors?"  
"They're designed to be controlled locally," Abela sighed, "You're supposed to use the command complex to, well, command other people! Not to actually control the weapons yourself!"  
"Well, can you do something?" Stafford demanded.  
"Yes, it'll just take a few minutes," Abela moved to Pye's pulpit.  
The city shook again as a series of Qu'Eh weapons pounded against the shields. Stafford stumbled against the railing around the upper deck. Clutching the railing, he found himself looking down at the lower window, three levels below. Through that he could see straight down the sides of the command tower and down at least forty high-ceilinged levels to the upper surface of the structure that held the Transit Hub. He pushed himself away, the bile rising in his throat and his head spinning with vertigo.  
"Who the hell designed this place, anyway?" he demanded.

"The Qu'Eh fleet is attacking Haven," Dr. Lang reported on the bridge of the USS Banshee, "They're shields are beginning to weaken, but they have plenty of strength left,"  
"I'm picking up a huge amount of comm traffic between the planet and the…um…city," Smith reported, "The Qu'Eh are trying to jam it, but I think they're pumping too much power into their weapons and shields to do a very good job,"  
"Fleet status?" Noonan asked.  
"The Stallion has been destroyed, but her crew beamed over to Haven before their shields went up. The Stouffer has been disabled, the Montreal and the Vendome report serious damage and the Champlain is missing a nacelle." DiSanto said, "The Elfmam has lost shields."  
"Haven is launching ships," Smith said, "They're not very big; attack ships, fighters and runabouts. But they're keeping the Qu'Eh busy,"  
"What about the Qu'Eh fleet?" Vorezze demanded.  
DiSanto and Smith tapped at their panels.  
"They've taken a beating. If they hadn't stripped Silverado for Federation technology, they would have been destroyed half an hour ago,"  
"We must maintain our momentum," Noonan said, "Matria Prime is in revolt. Dr. Wowryk believes a successful union will defeat the Qu'Eh, and Haven appears to be heavily fortified. This is it."  
"I agree," Vorezze sighed, "Onward!  
"I still say we just end this whole thing with a Cataclysm Torpedo or two," Charlotte muttered.

"How's it going, Noel?" Stafford asked Wowryk as she monitored the activity down in Signal Analysis.  
"Just about there," she said, "We just need a big enough sample size to satisfy Qu'Eh policy,"  
Haven shook again as the Qu'Eh launched another barrage.  
"Shields are down to 70%," Pye reported.  
"Got those weapons working yet?"  
"I think so," Abela said, "Firing!"  
Everybody looked out the window, expecting to see massive beams of destruction spearing out at the Qu'Eh ships. Nothing happened.  
"Or maybe not," Abela admitted, "Idiot garbage! When I get my hands on the kid that installed the weapons software, I'm going to…oh. I can't. She's been dead for hundreds of years. How depressing."  
Stafford clutched the railing as the city shook again.

Down in Signal Analysis, the council members were the center of total chaos.  
"Yes, this is Councillor Yvess," one man said, "I'm always happy to hear from my constituents. Yes, I realize the last couple of months have been very trying. But the sooner we get the Qu'Eh gone, the sooner we can…oh, you're voting yes? Excellent. If you'll excuse me, I have plenty more calls to answer!"  
"Voting yes?" a nearby councillor said, "I'm so pleased to hear it,"  
Throughout the huge room, government flunkies, after weeks of doing little more than babysit their superiors, were now scrambling around, tabulating results, numbers, names and entering them in the hastily created database that was delivering the results to Dr. Wowryk in the command complex.

"Captain," Wowryk smiled, turning away from her panel, "We've reached quorum. The Matrians have unionized,"  
"Hail Chairman P'tarek," Stafford ordered. There was a beep, then a holographic viewscreen appeared above the central holotable. P'tarek's face was clearly visible.  
"Are you ready to end this madness. Mr. Minister?" P'tarek demanded, "I've been in contact with the Shareholders! They're not willing to let this blatant disregard of company policy stand! Even now, we have reinforcements on the way. Surrender Haven to us and leave the Matrian system, and I promise you that-"  
"The Matrians have voted to accept the Articles of Unionization, Mr. Chairman," Wowryk interrupted.  
"DON'T SAY THAT WORD!" P'tarek screamed, making a Qu'Eh gesture to ward off evil. (To the Federation officers, it looked a lot like somebody checking off boxes on a clipboard.)  
"Union?" Stafford said innocently.  
"AHHHH!"  
"Yeah, definitely union," Wowyk smiled.  
"AHHHHHH!"  
"Mr. Chairman," Anselia stepped in, evidently deciding she wanted her own part in declaring Matria's independence. As well she should. "My people have voted through their legally elected councillors to accept membership in the Matrian Worker's Union-"  
"AHHHH!"  
"Please stop that," Anselia snapped, "As I was saying, the Matrian Worker's Union #1."  
"But…but…" P'tarek stammered, then seemed to gain confidence, "I mean, the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority refuses to recognize your…your union," he made a face, as if he'd just tasted something sour.  
"Chairman, we have it on good authority that the Qu'Eh company policy requires you to provisionally recognize a union, provided a quorum comprising a majority acceptance by at least 30% of the employees voting. That recognition becomes permanent once a 60% quorum is reached."  
"BUT YOU CAN"T KNOW THAT!" P'tarek hissed, "The regulations pertaining to the handling of unions is NOT shared with provisionally employed worlds! If they knew that they'd…they'd…I refuse to say more without consulting the Legal department."  
Hassin stepped forward.  
"I knew," he said, "All your long-term employees know. It's in Policy Book 27, Chapter 4. Of course, once the populations of our planets were fully implanted, it became impossible for us to form a union."  
"You actually READ the policy books?" P'tarek looked incredulous.  
"I've been implanted for 14 years!" Hassin snapped, "What else could I do? I couldn't even pleasure myself without one of your operators giggling in my ear! Once I was deep enough inside this installations jamming field, I was freed from the implant and willingly shared all I knew!"  
"Sharing confidential company information with resistant employees is punishable by death!" P'tarek snapped.  
"Look, buddy," Stafford cut in, "The Matrians have unionized. If you want to continue to employ them, you better listen to their demands!"  
"Ah, yes," Anselia stepped forward, "First, we demand hour-long lunch breaks. Second, we demand half-hour coffee breaks twice a day. We also want premium entertainment channels in the break rooms and the choice of either 35 days paid vacation, or a four day work week,"  
With an angry snarl, P'tarek slammed his hand down on his panel, closing the channel.  
"The Qu'Eh ships are breaking off their attack!" Pye exclaimed, staring at his console in shock, "They're moving out of orbit!"  
"Send a message to the Qu'Eh ships," Stafford said confidently, "Tell them to take their troops with them. They'll be allowed to leave the system peacefully."  
"Making decisions for us again, Captain?" King Hektor asked.  
Stafford looked embarrassed.  
"Um, I mean, I recommend allowing them to-"  
But Hektor was laughing. Anselia smiled, then repeated the order.  
"The Qu'Eh are acknowledging," Pye reported, "They're ordering their troops to gather at beam-out co-ordinates.  
Haven's command complex was rocked with cheers.

Captain's Log, Stardate 59045.5:

"With the withdrawal of Qu'Eh forces, life in the Matrian Republic is slowing returning to normal. Queen Anselia and King Hektor's government has been re-installed in the Matrian Council Chambers in Matronus, the Matrian Defence Force members that had been implanted by the Qu'Eh have been de-implanted by a team led by our own very capable Dr. Wowryk. Their ships are currently under repair while the Federation fleet patrols the Matrian system, awaiting their own turn for repairs.  
"Unfortunately, the Qu'Eh occupation took a heavy toll. Laheya's rebels, having succeeded in repelling the Qu'Eh, are now a bit of a wild card. Mistress, excuse me, Councillor Laheya has been elected into the Matrian government in a by-election in Na'aval District, replacing a councillor that was killed in the initial invasion. I'm sure her voice will keep Matrian politics…interesting…for the foreseeable future."  
"Colonel Abela has been re-commissioned into the Matrian Defence Force, along with Lieutenant Craigan. Sure, he used to be a rebel. But I think the Matrians agree that whatever part he may have played in the outbreak of the Gender Wars, the part he played in recent events merits it."  
"As for the Silverado crew, we've been invited by the Matrian Government to visit the city of Haven while we await further orders from Starfleet."

"I can't believe it's over," Stafford said, walking through one of Haven's well-lit outer-rim corridors,"  
"Believe it, buddy," Jall said, keeping pace next to him, "We came, we fought, we hid, we fought again. And we kicked ass! Eventually."  
"Who would have thought that the Qu'Eh were such slaves to corporate dogma that they'd walk away from an entire planet," Stafford said, shaking his head, "I bet the Shareholders are working overtime to strip out that little bit of policy,"  
"Hmm, they could," Jall said, "But that would be bad PR."  
"What"  
"Well," Jall shrugged, "They probably kept that little bit in their policies so that they could claim to be fair, ethical employers. They just made sure nobody could take advantage of it."  
"Lucky for us we got around that," Stafford shrugged.  
"Well, the people were revolting, their fleet wasn't doing all that great and I'm pretty sure throwing a three-kilometer wide city at them didn't help matters," Jall shrugged.  
"I guess," Stafford sighed, "But you know, after everything that's happened, I really, really just want a vacation. Some time to kick back, relax and enjoy NOT being stuck in the middle of a government under siege,"  
"I hear you there," Jall said, "Speaking of what comes next, any hints from Starfleet as to what they'll have us doing?"  
"Nothing," Stafford said, "We're still re-establishing communications through the Matrian Sector relay."  
He turned off the corridor and entered an unfinished lounge overlooking one of Haven's six shipyards. Shipyard 4 had been empty when the combined Starfleet/Matrian search teams had found it a week ago.  
"I hear the Matrian government has declared Haven 'off-limits' to all but a few select groups," Jall said.  
"You heard right," Stafford said, walking across the empty room to the ceiling-high windows that looked out into the cavernous shipyard, "Anselia and Hektor want to make sure they have time to transfer copies of all the historical records to secure sites on the planet. This place is the last relic of the Old Matrians, after all," He leaned against the railing next to the window, looking out into space.  
"We've been pretty lucky, haven't we" Jall said.  
"You mean surviving an attack, followed by an invasion, then months of hiding, a rebellion and a counter-attack?" Stafford asked, "Yes, I think we've been very lucky."  
"No, not that," Jall shook his head. He frowned, "Well, yes, that too. But I mean with the Matrians, and our original issue. I mean, most starships fly in, solve a problem, then fly out. That's what we did here, years ago. How many starship crews get the chance to come back and really work with the people they've encountered? It's been two months since we've arrived here, and we've built connections, got pulled into their government, fought alongside them and suffered with them. Now we've succeeded in fighting off the Qu'Eh with them."  
"Look there," Stafford said, pointing at a moving form barely visible in the distance.  
"I see it," Jall nodded. "But you know, I don't think the Qu'Eh realize it, but thanks to them, the Matrians are going to more dedicated to the Federation than the average member planet."  
"You think so?" Stafford asked, still staring out into the distance.  
"I do," Jall said, "A lot of member planets only have the promise of Federation support. We make contact, invite them in, and they join up. Sure, sooner or later they see that cooperating helps all of us. But the Matrians…we promised a fleet, and we delivered,"  
"Eventually," Stafford laughed.  
"And their entire council saw you step back and let Anselia and Hektor decide who should activate Haven," Jall went on, staring out the window, "I hate to say it, but that was a good move."  
"You know Jall, you might be right," Stafford said, "Personally? I hope you are. But I think our time here is almost done. And as much as it's been fun, I'm ready to go back to the whole 'exploring new worlds' thing. Somebody else can take care of Matria's future. Our work is done."  
They watched together as, slowly, a pair of Matrian tugs pulled the USS Silverado into the shipyard.  
"C'mon," Stafford said, clapping a hand on Jall's shoulder as a series of umbilicals and gangways extended from the shipyard scaffolding towards the powerless ship, "I bet Steven left a bottle of Earth rum in Unbalanced Equations,"  
"Doesn't hurt to look," Jall shrugged.

End

Wonder what the Haven activation looked like? Check out YouTube, watch?v=FwJCZcweNIQ to find out! (Make sure you use the HD option) (If the site yanks out that URL, then search for 'Star Traks Silverado Haven Revealed' on YouTube. And don't let it change 'Traks' to 'Tracks'!)

Next: With the crisis over, what comes next for the Silverado crew? How will Yanick and T'Parief handle immanent parenthood? Will Wowryk really be able to go back to being nothing more than a medical practitioner? And why is Noonan being so distant with his old comrades? Find out in the final story of Silverado Season 5: TGIF.


	16. TGIF

Star Traks: Silverado

5.16 – TGIF

Commander San Jall yawned as he stepped out of the turbolift and into the small lobby of the building he was temporarily calling home.  
With the launch of Haven and the defeat of the Qu'Eh, the orbital habitat/space station/city had become a veritable ghost town. Not that it had been all that full before, what with only a couple of thousand Matrians, Senousians and Starfleet members using it as a hiding place while it remained buried under the sand. Things had even livened up somewhat during the Qu'Eh attack, with thousands of enemy troops storming what they'd thought was an underground military bunker. And then there was the launch of the city into space. But as soon as the Qu'Eh crisis had ended the Matrian government members, along with the Matrian civilians, had packed up and returned to Matronus and to their comfortable officers in the main government buildings along Dignity Way. Within hours of Queen Anselia and King Hektor reclaiming their thrones, Haven had been declared off-limits to all but a caretaker crew, which consisted of a hundred or so Matrians and the crew of the USS Silverado.  
Jall and Stafford, though somewhat surprised at these developments, were nonetheless ready and eager to help the Matrians get their new toy up and running. They'd been even more surprised when that offer had been turned down.  
"But we may as well help out!" Stafford had objected, "I mean, until we get new orders from Starfleet we really don't have anything to do! Our ship is wrecked and the rest of the Federation fleet is handling their own repairs, along with patrolling your border!"  
"Chris," Anselia had said, "My people have a lot of work to do and a lot of damage to repair. We are finishing the data dump of Haven's computers as we speak. Everything else in the city can wait,"  
"But there's still huge areas of the station we haven't even explored," Jall had jumped in, "And we need to check supply levels, see about getting fresh food up here, not to mention how badly your people could use the shipyards,"  
"And we'll get to all of that," Anselia had said, trying to calm the two Starfleeters down, "Don't worry about it,"  
"But what are we supposed to DO?" Stafford had demanded.  
Anselia had crossed her arms.  
"Take a vacation," she's said flatly, "After all you've done, you all deserve it."  
"But-" Stafford had started.  
"No ifs, ands or buts," Anselia had cut him off sharply, "You and your crew will relax and enjoy the facilities that Haven and the rest of our planet has to offer. Now, if you'll excuse us, We have much work to do before We can take a break of our own. And if We call up there and catch you without a beverage in your hands, We will report you to Starfleet Command for failing to follow orders!"  
Now, a week later, Jall was already bored out of his mind. Beaming down to Matronus or Bevin to hit the nightclubs had entertained him for the first two evenings, but it didn't take long for the Matrians to move past the 'Hurray, We're Free, Let's Party' stage and into the "I Want My Calm, Stable Life Back' stage. Yanick had been too busy fussing over her egg to spend any time with him and he really didn't feel like hunting for any of his other shipmates.  
He finished walking down the ornate staircase and down into the Transit Hub. He looked out the broad, curving windows and into the well-lit track area. With main power restored the rows of illumination panels had come to full power, casting a cheery light off the polished stone walls. Plants were already growing in the broad garden boxes placed between the tram lines.  
But it was the double doorway opposite the exits to platform level that was Jall's destination. The heavy blast doors that had proven impossible for Valtaic to open had slid aside neatly as you please the moment Haven had been unlocked.  
Jall walked through the doors and into what the computer said was called 'Atrium 1'. He called it a big empty shopping mall. Granted it was a very nice, multilevel shopping mall with over 5 levels of crystal clear windows looking out into the city and several tiers of empty shops surrounding a tall, egg-shaped empty area. Actually, the whole complex was shaped as though somebody had stood an egg on one end and covered one half of the shell with windows and the other half with levels of shops. Still, there was nothing there except for a single storefront that was showing signs of activity.  
Jall walked past two Silverado crewmen who were trying to hang a banner. He stepped around a pile of supply crates, pushed several boxes off the flat surface of what could only be a counter and sat on the stool.  
"Bacon, eggs and a cup of coffee," he said.  
Steven Steiger, Silverado's resident bartender and the manager of Unbalanced Equations, popped his head out of the kitchen.  
"Jall, I'm not open for business yet. I just got my temporary lease from the Matrians; it'll be another two days before I'm ready for customers,"  
"Aw, c'mon Steve," Jall said, "I saw the request. This is a restaurant unit, it's already got replicators built in. Now, it's been months since I've been able to sit down in Unbalanced Equations and get something to eat. I'm not waiting. So scoot on over to the replicator and get me some breakfast,"  
Steven looked like he was about to refuse, then shrugged.  
"OK, fine. I can do that."  
He disappeared into the back for a moment, then returned with a plate full of...something.  
"What the hell is this?" Jall demanded, carefully lifting a piece of bluish meat with his fork and examining it at eye-level.  
"Matrian bacon," Steven said flatly.  
"And these?" Jall indicated a pile of red goo.  
"Scrambled Matrian eggs,"  
"Don't you have any Terran recipes in that thing?" Jall whined.  
"I'm installing them first thing tomorrow morning," Steven said sharply, "So if you'd listened to me when I told you I wasn't open yet, we wouldn't be having this conversation!"  
With that, Steven returned to his unpacking.  
Jall was about to point out that he'd forgotten the coffee. One glance at the disturbing breakfast he'd been given was enough to convince him to just let Steven finish his work.  
He'd barely managed to force down the eggs when his comm-badge went off.  
"Haven Command Complex to Commander San Jall," an officious-sounding voice came over the comm.  
"I'm eating," Jall said flatly, "Go away,"  
"Mr. Jall," the voice started.  
"That's 'Sir'," Jall snapped, "And when I say 'Go away', I mean-"  
"Sir," the now annoyed and officious-sounding voice cut him off, "I have an Admiral Tunney waiting to speak to you over subspace,"  
Jall sighed.  
"Next time," he said sharply, "When I tell you to go away, just listen to me, for crying out loud!"  
He slid off his stool and started the long walk to the Command Complex.

Captain Christopher Stafford stretched out on the soft sand, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his bare skin and the sound of water lapping at the shore. With his eyes closed, he could just about imagine that he was on a tropical beach somewhere, with nubile, bikini-clad women and plenty of icy drinks sporting little umbrellas.  
"Why are we sitting here instead of on a real beach down on the planet?" Dr. Noel Wowryk said crossly.  
Cracking one eye, Stafford looked over at Wowryk. The doctor was wearing a conservative one-piece bathing suit and a hat that looked big enough to land a shuttle on. Next to her, Lt. Commander Simon Jeffery had passed out on his beach towel and was snoring loudly.  
"I was going to go down to the planet," Stafford said, "But Anselia said she had a surprise for me, and that I should come here to see it."  
The three of them were on a small beach on Haven's central island. Not far to one side was one of the six bridges connecting what had been unanimously declared 'downtown' with the rest of the city. A few meters further up the beach, grass and bushes were rapidly recovering from whatever bio-engineered hibernation the Old Matrians had used on them. Across the water they could see trees already budding among the towering buildings.  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks, then a 36-foot boat started to appear right in front of them. Wowryk gave a small shriek of surprise as the watercraft finished materializing, then plopped into the lake sending a wave of water high enough onto the beach to soak their feet. Jeffery snorted then sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
A bikini-clad Matrian female puttered around on the bow of the yacht, deploying an old-fashioned anchor. She spoke to somebody briefly over her comm-badge, then a small floating dock materialized, leading from the beach to the yacht.  
"Captain," she said to Stafford, smiling suggestively, "Compliments of Queen Anselia, may it make your stay here more pleasant,"  
"This is great!" Stafford exclaimed, jumping to his feet and running onto the yacht, "Hey guys, there's beer here and everything!"  
"This seems to be a lot of fuss just to improve your little vacation," Wowryk said.  
But Stafford was already lounging, a beer in one hand while the bikini-clad Matrian started massaging his feet.  
"I just wonder how she knew," Stafford said.  
"She asked me, Ah told her," Jeffery said, yawning as he too fished a beer out of the cooler.  
"And I don't suppose anybody thought to ask when I'd like for my vacation?" Wowryk said grumpily.  
"Anselia said yer surprise is still comin'," Jeffery said.  
"It had better not be another Matrian in a bikini,"  
"Enough bickering," Stafford said, "Let's take this thing out into the lake. Sure, it's not a very big lake, but it's big enough,"  
"Me last girlfriend used to say that," Jeffery sighed, "Uh, I mean the last one before I started dating…y'know, just never mind,"  
The Matrian girl, Gelinta, had just activated the engines when a shout could be heard from shore. Stafford and Jeffery looked to see San Jall running down the floating dock. He leapt just as the boat pulled away, landing on the deck and executing a flawless tuck-and-roll.  
And rolling right off the other side and into the lake with a loud splash and a surprised shout.  
Gelinta cut the engines long enough for Jall to climb, soaking wet, back aboard. He fumbled on the deck for the padd he'd dropped during his impromptu aerobics routine then turned to Stafford.  
"Our orders came in from Tunney," he said gravely.  
Uh-oh. This didn't look like good news.  
The big question in the mind of all the Silverado crewmen since the end of the Qu'Eh invasion had been simply this: What are we doing next? The ship was horribly damaged, it was highly unlikely that Starfleet was just going to send them another one and the Matrians just happened to have this big, empty space station that just happened to be in need of a skilled crew. Needless to say, speculation had run rampant. Now, finally, it looked like some of their questions were about to be answered.  
Stafford grabbed the padd and immediately started reading. He stopped, rereading the first few lines. He looked at Wowryk, frowned, read the padd again, looked back to Wowryk, frowned even harder, then resumed reading.  
"What is it already?" Jeffery deamanded.  
"Hmm? Oh, sorry," Stafford swallowed. He turned to Wowryk, "The Matrian government is asking Starfleet for help staffing Haven. They think it'll be a good way to boost their economy, and that a strong Federation presence will stop the Qu'Eh or anybody else from trying another invasion. They've even submitted themselves for consideration to the planned expansion of the Waystation program,"  
"What about us?" Wowryk asked, "Are they transferring us? Offering you command of Haven?"  
Stafford swallowed again.  
"No," he said, "They're offering it to you,"  
"Surprise!" Jeffery said happily.  
Wowryk spun around, facing Jeffery with fury in her eyes.  
"Did YOU have something to do with this?" she demanded.  
"Well, Queen Anselia was wonderin' who on the command crew would be interested," Jeffery said, "Ah mean, she knew Chris wanted a starship command again, so I dropper yer name and-"  
With a mighty shove, Wowryk pushed Jeffery off the side of the yacht and into the water.  
"TAKE ME HOME!" she demanded.  
"But Jeffery," Jall started.  
"He can swim back," Stafford cut him off, stepping carefully away from Wowryk, "Gelinta, take us back,"

After Wowryk stormed off, Stafford and Jall found themselves alone on the boat. Well, alone after Stafford sent Gelinta off looking for some stronger drinks.  
"You didn't tell them about the second part of the message," Jall said.  
"I didn't get the chance," Stafford replied, "Besides, that's something we should announce to the whole staff, together."  
"You're right," Jall admitted. He was quiet for a moment, then "Is Jeffery really that bad with women that he completely missed Wowryk's whole issue with power over the past two months?"  
"He saw what he wanted to see," Stafford sighed, "When she wants to, Wowryk can seem very comfortable in a position of authority. She handled it well as your first officer, and she handled it well with the Matrian rebels. He saw dropping her name to Anselia as a way to win points with her...it didn't even cross his mind that she might not want a command,"  
"Would you want command of this place?"  
Stafford looked around at the gleaming towers, the smooth lake and the crystal clear dome looking out into space.  
"Nope," he said, "I couldn't deal with a station command."  
"You might end up with one anyway," Jall said, gesturing at the padd.  
"Don't remind me," Stafford sighed.

MESSAGE STARTS:

TO: CAPTAIN CHRISTOPHER STAFFORD, COMMANDER SAN JALL, C/O HAVEN BASE, MATRIA PRIME, MATRIAN SECTOR  
FROM: ADMIRAL EDWARD TUNNEY, STARBASE 45, RAMSON SECTOR  
SUBJECT: ORDERS  
MESSAGE READS:

USS SILVERADO REFIT REQUEST REJECTED BY SPACEDOCK, STARBASE 45, ANTARES SHIPYARD AND EARTH BOX DOCKS. REFIT REQUEST EMPHATICALLY REJECTED BY DENERIA DRYDOCKS DUE TO QUOTE INTURRUPTED MARITAL COITUS ON PREVIOUS VISIT UNQUOTE.  
USS SILVERADO IS HEREBY DECOMMISSIONED, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. DISPOSAL OF CLASSIFIED ASSETS TO BE SUPERVISED BY LT. CMDR SIMON JEFFERY. REMAINDER OF DISSASSEMBLY AND DISPOSAL TO BE HANDLED AS DETERMINED BY MATRIAN PLANETARY GOVERNMENT  
FURTHER ORDERS AND REASSIGNMENTS TO FOLLOW.  
SORRY PEOPLE. NEXT TIME, TRY NOT TO PISS OFF SO MANY REPAIR FACILITIES.

MESSAGE ENDS

Stafford and Jall exchanged a glance.  
"Shit," Stafford muttered.

"Nobody else has moved into this building yet, so you'll have plenty of privacy," the young Matrian was saying, "In fact, nobody's moved into this entire suburb. The penthouse suite here has an unbeatable view of downtown on this side, with the other side looking out of the dome and into space. It's a three-level unit, and I don't have to tell you this is the only building in the neighborhood with one of those. Really, if the Council would have authorized it, I would have taken this place for myself!"  
Lieutenant Patricia Yanick and Commander T'Parief stepped out of the corridor and into the suite that they were currently viewing. The 10-foot ceilings and the floor-to-ceiling windows certainly made the place feel spacious, and the soft, tan colour of the walls seemed like a pleasant contrast to the strong reds and blues in the corridor. A food preparation area and dining room lay off to one side, while a curved staircase leading up to the next level lay off to the right. Past the staircase was a curved hallway leading...somewhere else in the unit. A comfortable living area was straight ahead, though somewhat lacking in furniture. Outside the expansive windows the gleaming towers of 'downtown' Haven were coming to life with lights as the Matrian sun disappeared beneath the lower rim of the dome.  
A typical couple out hunting for living accommodations probably would have raced towards the windows to see the last of the sunset, or the view of downtown, or perhaps the spectacle of Matria Prime, the blue and green orb slowly dimming as night fell. Yanick and T'Parief, however, barely seemed to notice.  
"It just doesn't feel...right," Yanick sighed.  
"But you haven't even seen the upper levels!" the Matrian said nervously, "There are two bedrooms and a recreation room on the second level, the master bedroom is on the third, in the peak, and-"  
"I don't want it," Yanick said firmly.  
"But this is the 17th unit we've looked at today!" the Matrian exclaimed, "Madam, I swear to you, these are premium accommodations I am offering you! Do you know how shocked I was that the Council even allowed me to show you something in the Suburbs?"  
"Let us view the place for a moment," T'Parief said, being about twice as subtle as was normal for him.  
"But you're viewing it now!" the Matrian said.  
Apparently, T'Parief's usual view that subtlety was a waste of time was not entirely unfounded.  
"Get out," he said, clearly indicating the door.  
With barely a protest, the Matrian exited.  
Yanick had crossed her arms over her chest and was staring at the food replicator. T'Parief stepped closer to her.  
"And what is wrong with THIS one?" he demanded.  
"I told you," Yanick said, "It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like home,"  
"Of course not," T'Parief said, "It isn't home. It is a space in an alien space station."  
"I don't want it," Yanick said again.  
"We've spent the entire day looking at living quarters," T'Parief said, the rattle in his throat indicating more than minor annoyance, "You've rejected all of them."  
"Because I didn't like any of them!"  
"So instead, you prefer we live in our current, separate quarters?"  
"No, Pari!" Yanick rolled her head, "I don't want to go back there!"  
"I don't understand why this is such a problem," T'Parief said, trying very hard to stay calm, "We will only be here for a matter of weeks. A month at the most. Once we're reassigned, we will be departing. Pick a place, and let's move in,"  
"It's not that easy!" Yanick said, "And there's no guarantee that we'll be leaving so soon!"  
T'Parief crossed his arms.  
"You are making this 10 times more complicated than it has to be!"  
"And maybe YOU just don't care about what kind of place your child will be born...hatched in!" Yanick snapped, "And I'll be damned before I let that happen in any old dump!"  
"This entire city has never been occupied," T'Parief said, "Pick building, or I will,"  
"Don't you dare!" Yanick shrieked, "We agreed to move in together, so we're going to pick a place together!"  
"Then I will see you at the housing center tomorrow morning," T'Parief said. He inclined his head, then stepped out of the suite.  
"Stafford to all senior Silverado staff. Report to the shipyard. I don't remember the number…the one where our ship is docked. Stafford out."  
"We will consider it," T'Parief said to the Matrian as he stepped through the hallway.

The Silverado senior staff, past and present, had gathered in the unfinished lounge looking out into the shipyard where their ship hung, motionless, in the scaffolding. On the 'floor' of the shipyard teams of well-remembered Matrian construction bots were trickling out from access hatches and taking their places in a slowly growing formation. None of the staff cared or even noticed, save for Noonan. He was looking out into the bay with a look of calm interest. On a table nearby sat the padd bearing Admiral Tunney's decommissioning orders.  
"I can't believe this," Yanick said angrily, "That ship's our home! They can't take our home away!"  
"We haven't actually lived aboard that ship for nearly two months," Valtaic pointed out, "Aside from which, I imagine we will all be getting new homes very soon,"  
"Some sooner than others," Jall said, throwing a significant look in Wowryk's direction. She hadn't said anything to the others about her offer from the Matrians.  
"She was a good ship," Jeffery said, turning to look out the window, "We put a lot of work into her, and she got us home every time,"  
"Actually," Fifebee piped up, "She technically did not. We had to be rescued from Deloria 2,"  
"We could have towed the saucer back ourselves," Jeffery said indignantly.  
"And we are, even now, many light-years from a starbase," Fifebee finished, "In fact, by launching Haven, you might say that we in fact had to bring a friendly outpost to Silverado,"  
"She was a good ship," Stafford echoed. He was quiet for a moment. "But she was past her prime. We had a good run on her. If Starfleet's so sure that it's time to scrap her, there's not much we can do,"  
"Isn't there?" T'Parief asked, "If we choose to fight, we may yet keep the ship,"  
"Not likely," Jall said, "I already had this discussion with Tunney. With the amount of work Silverado needs at this point, it's easier and more economical to just build a whole new ship. Especially since they can build a smaller, modern ship with the same specs,"  
"Are we getting another ship?"  
There was a sensation, almost a wince, which ran through the room. Nobody had wanted to ask that question. Well, nobody except for Valtaic. Of course, since he didn't have the same history with the ship and the rest of the crew, nobody was sure if he was just being his normal, blunt self or if he really wasn't concerned.  
"No," Stafford said, "I called Tunney back after he gave Jall our orders. We're all being reassigned."  
Yanick and T'Parief exchanged a worried look. Well, Yanick's look was worried. T'Parief's was more along the lines of 'Separate me from my mate? I'd like to see you try.' Jeffery glanced over at Wowryk, who simply compressed her lips in a grimace.  
"You don't seem as upset by this as I might have expected," Wowryk said to him.  
"Four and a half years on my first command?" Stafford shrugged, "That's not bad. Career-wise, I'm actually not in a bad position."  
"Career-wise?" Jeffery jumped up, "CAREER-WISE? That's yer big worry, yer career?"  
"He's right, Simon," Wowryk said calmly, "We all need to think carefully about our options for advancement at this point."  
"That's what Ah was thinkin' when Ah told Anselia she should put ye in command of Haven!"  
Yanick looked at Wowryk in pleasant surprise.  
"Really Noel? Command of your own station? Congratulations!"  
"I haven't decided whether or not I want the position," Wowryk sniffed.  
"As opposed to spending another four years in a sickbay?" Valtaic cocked his head, "Logically, it would seem…"  
Jall and Stafford exchanged a worried look. This conversation was venturing into dangerous territory.  
"Look, people," Stafford said, turning his attention to a small tray he'd set on the table earlier, "We all have some thinking and planning to do. And it's something we all need to think about…on our own time. For now," he opened a bottle of Matrian wine and poured several glasses. He looked around at the gathered officers for a moment, then raised his glass.  
"To us," he said, "Whatever happens next, we had a good run."

It wasn't long before almost everybody had taken off, most of them stopping at the huge windows to look out at the crippled ship on their way out. Soon only Stafford, Sylvia and Noonan were left.  
"You were very quiet," Stafford said, not to either one of them in particular.  
"I felt like I was at my own memorial," Sylvia said, not unkindly. "I don't suppose it occurred to you that this is my body you're talking about dismantling."  
Stafford looked surprised.  
"I just sort of figured you'd get another one. Maybe something with a bigger computer core?" he said.  
"Do you really think Starfleet is that eager to just hand me another ship?" Sylvia crossed her arms, "they weren't that pleased about having me on Silverado…but at that point none of you knew how to remove me."  
"I'll probably get another command," Stafford said, "I can take you with me. Captain's prerogative."  
Sylvia smiled.  
"That's sweet, Chris," she said, "I hope you get another ship. I'm sure Anselia would have given you Haven, but Jeffery was pretty sure you didn't want a station command."  
"I wish he would have asked me," Stafford grunted, "I'm just surprised he went to Anselia with our 'Wish Lists' like that,"  
"She went to him," Sylvia admitted, "She's basking in the afterglow of a really good evil-alien-ass-kicking. She wanted to show her appreciation,"  
They looked out at Silverado for another moment.  
"Chris, I was contacted by Starfleet yesterday," Sylvia said suddenly, "they want me to go to the Daystrom Insititute. For 'analysis',"  
Stafford's head whipped around.  
"They want to see what makes you tick?" he demanded angrily, "They can't do that! They can't order a sentient being to-"  
"Cool your engines, star-racer," Sylvia cut him off, "It wasn't an order. It was a request."  
"Oh," Stafford said quietly.  
"I turned them down," she said, "Personal preferences aside, I just," she paused. "I think they're envisioning an AI on every ship. I'm flattered that they see how useful I've been to you, but I just don't think the Federation is ready for that kind of thing."  
Stafford considered the ongoing Hologram Rights fracas that was even still working its way through the Federation Council.  
"I can see that," he shrugged.  
"Anyway, I promised Yanick I'd help with her egg. I should go,"  
She gave Stafford a hug, then left.  
Stafford refilled his wine glass, then turned to Noonan.  
"And what about you?" he said, smiling. The smile slid off his face. Noonan looked…uncomfortable. It wasn't something Stafford was used to seeing.  
"I'm a bit surprised that nobody tried to make a case for keeping the crew together," he said slowly, "I would have thought that Yanick especially would have been more vocal on that point,"  
Stafford considered this.  
"I think everybody was thinking about it," he replied, "But you heard Tunney's orders. They're not transferring us to another ship. That killed the whole idea right there."  
"But do you think they'd like to remain together?" Noonan pressed, "Would you?"  
"Well, I mean, Wowryk's been offered her own command," Stafford shrugged.  
"Which has its own issues right there," Noonan pointed out.  
"You know about that?"  
"It is not hard to figure out."  
They were quiet again for a moment. Noonan looked like he was sitting on something very prickly.  
"As you know," he said softly, "I'm not without my own influences. Especially now,"  
"I know about your special influences," Stafford said, "and I can't condone you brainwashing an Admiral into giving us special treatment,"  
"Not like that," Noonan corrected him. "Chris, you know the fleet was delayed because Fleet Admiral Ra'al refused to give Admiral Tunney a battleship."  
"Yeah," Stafford frowned, "But you guys showed up with the Medusa, so I assume everything worked out,"  
"I had to make a few connections with…a certain branch of Starfleet to get us that ship," Noonan confessed, "In return, I am now indentured to them for several years,"  
Stafford looked down at the table.  
"I'm sorry, Matt," he said, "I didn't…I mean, we didn't mean to…"  
"It was my decision," Noonan cut in smoothly, "And for myself, years are nothing. However, it has given me certain connections I didn't have before."  
With that, he slid a padd across the table. Stafford picked it up. It had the schematics and specifications of a ship he'd never seen before. The saucer was oval, stretched forward in the same manner as a Sovereign-class ship with a pair of heavy impulse engines on the rear edge, attached to a raised structure that seemed to flow forward into the saucer. A short neck, a rarity in modern starship design, connected the saucer to a boat-shaped engineering hull. Further back, a pair of angular pylons supported two long, rounded nacelles. The nacelles were reminiscent of the ones on Silverado, only stretched out and capped with bullet-shaped Bussard collectors.  
"It looks like a Sovereign-, an Excelsior- and an Ambassador-class ship all got together and had a baby," Stafford said. His eyes poured over the specs. 36 decks, same as Silverado, but far greater in length. Modern weapons, shields and warp drive. It was a nice ship. Big, too. Solid, but without the slightly bloated look that Stafford always felt characterised the Galaxy-class ships.  
"It is the new Vimy-class heavy cruiser," Noonan said as Stafford read, "With the Dominion and Borg threats having receded, Starfleet is again moving in the direction of larger ships capable of long-term exploration missions. The first ship, the USS Vimy Ridge, will be launched in one month."  
"Tunny told us there were no ships launching anytime soon,"  
"No ships that require a crew," Noonan corrected, "The Vimy Ridge's crew has already been assigned.  
"Then why are you telling me this?" Stafford demanded.  
Again, Noonan looked very, very uncomfortable.  
"My superiors can arrange for you to be given command of the Vimy Ridge," Noonan said, "Along with whichever officers and crew you wish to bring over from Silverado."  
"There must be a catch," Stafford said suspiciously.  
There was.

Once again, Jall was just making himself comfortable at Steven's temporary lounge in Atrium One. And once again, he was rudely interrupted.  
"Jall! Get out here!" Stafford shouted.  
Grabbing his coffee, Jall sauntered over to the door, just about ready to tell Stafford where to go shove it. One look at the uncharacteristic expression of rage on the man's face changed his mind.  
"What's wrong?"  
"We've been set up!" Stafford snapped.

Seconds after Stafford had stormed out, Noonan heard the sound of a transporter beam. Without turning, he addressed the new arrival.  
"Everybody here believes the Banshee has departed," he said calmly, "Recalled to Federation space while the rest of the fleet handles security here,"  
"We warped out the system, cloaked, and snuck back in," Captain Jad Vorezze said.  
"I was prepared to return to Federation space with the fleet," Noonan said, "I have not reneged on our arrangement."  
"Oh, I know. I just thought you'd like the feedback from your little bribery session here," Vorezze said, pulling out a padd.  
"For starters," he said, "You should have started floating the idea that the crew should stay together while everybody was still in the room. If Stafford had been under pressure from his officers already, he would have been way more receptive to our offer. Even worse, you sat there and said nothing about the directions everybody was taking! You should have fed Yanick's fear of being separated from her…lizard. You should have tried convincing Sylvia yourself to accept the Daystrom Institute's offer! And the timing was just SO off! Now this whole thing just reeks of coercion!"  
"It is coercion," Noonan said.  
"Of course it is! Section 31 is all about this dark stuff!" Vorezze grimaced, "And you're going to have to get a lot better at it! Your review so far sucks!"  
"You are sounding suspiciously like one of the Qu'Eh," Noonan said calmly.  
"Hey, for all their faults, those guys are meticulous with their paperwork," Vorezze shrugged.  
"I already told you that Stafford will never accept this offer," Noonan said, "And he's been exposed to my 'special talents' long enough to develop an immunity."  
"I know, I know," Vorezze waved his hand, "that's why we had you influence Jeffery into going along with the Matrian Queen's little vacation-and-reward plan. There's no way Stafford would be interested in the Vimy Ridge if he was already being offered a whole city,"  
"He really isn't interested in a station command," Noonan stated.  
"Look," Vorezze let his hands drop to his sides, "Section 31 is barely interested in this whole situation. The Matrians, Stafford, your crappy ship…it's not important to us. So let's just say that letting the Dystom Institute get their hands on Sylvia will screw up their AI research in ways that would be…beneficial to Section 31. But the main thing here is that it's a chance for us to see just how well you're going to work out for us. So find a way to get Stafford to accept the deal!"  
"You could simply kidnap-" Noonan started.  
"I told you, we don't care enough about the situation to take those kinds of measures. It's up to you to make it happen," Vorezze crossed his arms, "Now go do it!"  
Noonan gave Vorezze just enough to a snarl to expose his fang teeth, then left the room.

"I don't get what's going on!" Jall said, trying not to spill his coffee as Stafford dragged him up the stairs towards the passageway leading to the command tower lobby.  
"We've been played," Stafford said, "Somebody's trying to get their hands on Sylvia, and they're using us to make it happen!"  
"What…Sylvia? Who?" Jall stuttered.  
"I just had a little chat with Noonan," Stafford said as they reached the passageway, "And whoever he pulled strings with to get the fleet out here, they're ready to offer me command of a brand new ship if I talk Sylvia into going into the Daystrom Institute for analysis!"  
"A new ship? Really?" Jall was stunned, "That's great, right?"  
"Wake up, San!" Stafford snapped as they reached the turbolifts, "A few hours after we get told our ship is being decommissioned, I just happen to get this offer? Somebody's been planning this! If they're willing to go to this much trouble to get Sylvia there, do you think they're just going to let her walk out again after a couple of gel-pack scans?"  
"I think you're being paranoid," Jall said, "Sure, there was probably some wheeling and dealing happening, but that happens at Command all the time! It's politics!"  
Stafford looking a little doubtful.  
"It's the Daystom Institute," Jall said, "Not some secret shadow organization or something! If she's being studied there then there's going to be papers published, ethics boards watching the whole thing and the Federation R&D Oversight Committee!"  
Stafford worked his mouth for a moment.  
"Maybe you're right," he admitted, "Maybe I'm right. But I still want to talk to Tunney,"  
They arrived at Haven's command complex, climbed to the second level and faced one of the big screens ringing the deck.  
"Could I get Admiral Tunney here, please?" Stafford called up to the command deck, "Starbase 45,"  
One of the temporary Matrian crew tapped at his control pulpit. The screen came to life, showing a standard Federation hold message. After a moment, Admiral Tunney appeared on the screen.  
"Tunney, how can I," the middle-aged, goateed Admiral frowned, "Oh. It's you two. What is it this time? I already told you the decommissioning order was final."  
"Where did that order come from, Admiral," Stafford asked, "And when?"  
"Are you planning on going over my head with this?" Tunney asked wearily, "I mean, if you really want to, knock yourselves out. No skin off my back. But you'll be wasting your time,"  
"Who sent the order?" Stafford pressed.  
Sighing, Tunney tapped at his desk.  
"It came down through standard channels," he said, "Through my chain of command back at HQ. It originated from Admiral Grant, who as you know is still working with the refurbishment side of Operation Salvage." Tunney frowned. "That's odd,"  
"What?"  
"The decommissioning order was put through before Lt. Commander Jeffery's report on the ship's condition had even reached HQ." He shrugged, "I guess somebody really had their minds made up. Now, you can call up Admiral Grant if you like, but given what I just told you, I really think you should just let it drop. Enjoy your vacation, think about your options. Once the Matrians have their ships patched up, we're recalling all of you, along with the fleet. Tunney out."  
They stared at the blank screen for a moment.  
"Are you going to talk to Sylvia?" Jall asked.  
"No," Stafford said firmly, "She's already made up her mind."

"I've already made up my mind," Wowryk said, "And if Stafford is sending you of all people to try convince me of something, I don't get where he's going with this. Really. I mean, you of all people?"  
T'Parief crossed his arms as he stood next to Wowryk in the Transit Hub.  
"This has nothing to do with the Captain," he said.  
"OK, then what do you want?" she settled back in her desk, "Career stuff? You want to convince me to promote you and give you…what…the first officer slot?"  
T'Parief crossed his arms. He actually had considered asking Wowryk if she was looking for officers to join her, but something in her voice suggested that he probably didn't want to pursue that one right now.  
"I'm here because of Trish," he said.  
Instantly, Wowryk's entire demeanour shifted. Instead of leaning back with an expression somewhere between annoyance and distaste she immediately leaned forward, her face filling with concern.  
"Trish?" she asked, "What's wrong? Post-partum depression? Is she showing signs of-"  
"She cannot decide on a place to live," T'Parief cut her off, "We have looked Downtown, in the Suburbs, and even Spaceside. She cannot be satisfied! She turned down a dwelling in the North Suburb because the floors had 'too much wood grain'!"  
Wowryk looked dazed.  
"Suburbs? Spaceside?" she asked.  
"Terms used by the Matrian real estate office," T'Parief said, "It matters not. How do I satisfy her? We may still be here when our child is hatched, and it is important to her…to both of us, that our child is born in a proper environment."  
"And you think that proper environment is in a home with two unwed parents living in sin?" Wowryk asked, raising an eyebrow.  
"Technically, we are common-law at this point," T'Parief said.  
Wowryk frowned.  
"OK, whatever," she shook her head, then thought for a moment.  
"T'Parief," she said, "You've been with Yanick for years. And you've met her parents, haven't you?"  
"I have," he nodded. That had certainly been an adventure. He'd even been shot at, an event that had endured Yanick's family to him in way that they probably would prefer not knowing about.  
"Then you have an idea of where she lived as a child, and what she probably wants for her own children," Wowryk said.  
"I had not considered that," T'Parief said.  
"Of course not," Wowryk said, "you're a man, and men just don't realize that your quarters are supposed to be a nurturing home, not just a place to put up your feet, watch the holovision and drink beer!"  
T'Parief ignored the remark. He had preparations to make. But first…  
"Have you decided whether or not you will be taking command of Haven?" he asked.  
Wowryk sighed and almost seemed to deflate.  
"It's not as easy as everybody thinks it is," she said, "Jeffery thinks I should be jumping for joy, and Stafford and Jall are too afraid I'm going to yell at them again to even ask." She looked up at T'Parief, "I think you can understand my position, though,"  
T'Parief just looked back at her, as if to say 'If you wish to speak, do so. Or don't. I'm good either way.'  
"If you took command of a ship or a station, it would be great for your career," Wowryk said, evidently deciding to take the plunge, "But do you really want to give up your job as Security Chief? Blasting bad guys, protecting the crew, being all big and bad? It's what you love doing. It's what makes you happy. Is command and responsibility really worth giving that up?"  
T'Parief considered this for a moment. Then another.  
A minute passed, then two.  
"That's pretty much how I feel," Wowryk sighed.

Stafford was sitting in his quarters, mulling over his options. He could just not get involved; head back to Federation space and hope that his next assignment was a decent one. Unfortunately, if somebody at Command was playing political games with his crew, there was nothing to say they wouldn't punish him for not playing their game. He might find himself in command of a garbage scow. Or, he could go find Sylvia and convince her that agreeing to an assignment at the Daystrom Institude for 'study' was a good idea, regardless of whether or not the Federation was ready for the leap in AI technology that Sylvia's accidental creation represented.  
The idea that he could go to Anselia and try to get her to give him command of Haven crossed his mind. Sure, he didn't really want to be in charge of a giant, floating city. But it would be a way to escape his other situation.  
He stood, drink in one hand, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment and out over the city. He'd chosen a place in one of the smaller clusters of buildings that sat between the ring-shaped lake and the thick, outer rim of the city; an area nicknamed 'the Suburbs'. From his window he could see the shining buildings of downtown, with the thick, tapered Command Tower spearing right up to the clear dome covering the city. The Command Complex was not only perched atop this tower, it was embedded in the dome. There, the temporary Matrian crew along with several of his junior officers were handling the day-to-day operations of the three-kilometer diameter city. Which, given that the city was deserted, really didn't amount to much. But sooner or later the Matrians would open it up to habitation and the city would be flooded with tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of civilians along with the staff needed to operate the city. Considering Matria Prime's new status as a Federation member world, half of that staff was likely to be Starfleet. The other half would consist of Matrian officers trying to adapt to life in a galactic community.  
Nope, there was no way he wanted command of this place.  
There was a soft chime from the apartment computer. He turned and walked down the comfortable hallway to the front door.  
Fifebee and Valtaic stepped briskly in. No bottle of wine, no cheese plate. Nothing. Just what he'd expect from a pair of people who cared little for social niceties.  
"Can I help you?" Stafford asked sarcastically, standing next to the door while Fifebee and Valtaic proceeded right past him and into his living room.  
"I wish to know if you plan on taking any actions geared on keeping the crew together," Valtaic said immediately, "Otherwise, I will begin collecting letters of recommendation,"  
"And I wanted to speak to you regarding my own career pathing," Fifebee said.  
Stafford took a long swig of his drink, then sat down.  
"I don't know if we're going to try to keep the crew together," he admitted, "Honestly, I thought everybody would be thrilled to move on in their lives,"  
"I just got here," Valtaic pointed out.  
"Well, yeah, there's that,"  
Stafford was quiet for a moment.  
"OK, look. I don't have any answers for you at this point. It's just too…too early. I'm not even sure what I want!" he took another swig of his drink, "I like the crew we have. I think we work well together. But 4 and a half years is a decent run for a crew, and I can't help but think that it's time to cut everybody loose so they can go their separate ways,"  
"Even if we don't know where those ways will take us yet," Fifebee arched an eyebrow.  
"Exactly."  
"Very well," she stood. As she and Valtaic departed, Stafford noticed a small device on the floor outside his door.  
"Did one of you drop this?" he asked.  
"I did not," replied Fifebee. Valtaic shook his head.  
"Huh. Whatever,"  
Bidding them good evening, Stafford stepped back into his apartment and carried the spherical device into his living room. It had several small, crystalline nodes on the outside, almost like emitters of some kind.  
There was a flash of light from the device, and Stafford suddenly found himself standing on a starship bridge. It wasn't any ship he recognized, but it was definitely Starfleet. The colours had more reds and creams in them than he was used to, telling him it must be a newer design. The layout was similar to Silverado's bridge, with a sleek conn/ops console, port and starboard auxiliary consoles and engineering and sciences towards the back. Instead of a tactical rail, a solid looking panel rose out of the floor behind the command chair.  
"Utopia Planetia Control has cleared us for launch, Captain," Lieutenant Yanick said from the helm.  
"All decks signal ready, sir," an unfamiliar officer said from the first officer's seat.  
"Sensors are clear," T'Parief called from tactical.  
Stafford stood there, trying to tear his eyes away from the modern panels, the crisp, sleek layout and the inviting image of the open end of a shipyard up on the screen.  
With a shout of anger, he threw the device away. There was a crash as it hit the wall, then the scene around him vanished.

"That was properly planned," Captain Velorn, Section 31 Advisor to the USS Banshee said as he, Noonan and Vorezze watched the spy footage of Stafford's little fit on the screen, "You've dangled the bait before him, and how you're making it even more irresistible."  
"Why is the Daystrom Institute going to all this trouble to get their hands on Sylvia?" Noonan asked, ignoring Velorn's praise.  
"They aren't, we are," Velorn waved a hand, "Our own research on cybernetic AI shows that Sylvia's a dead-end. They'll never reproduce the sequence of events that created her, and even if they did, the ethical concerns over the use of living tissue and artificial personality will keep the whole thing tied in permanent knots. And Section 31 prefers that Starfleet not attain any significant advances in AI research for at least another century,"  
"I see," Noonan relaxed, trying to get a sense of just how honest Velorn was being with him, "Why not simply order her there?"  
"Too risky, after the whole Data incident some years back," Velorn said, "We want her moved there with as little publicity as possible."  
The better to be able to make her disappear, if the Daystrom Institue actually produces results.  
This last wasn't spoken, nor was it distinctly thought. It was just a sense. A feeling.  
But Section 31 had specifically wanted Noonan for his 'feelings'.  
And this feeling was definitely telling him that Sylvia needed to stay far, far away.  
"Anyway," Vorezze cut in, "now that we have Stafford literally drooling for that ship, let's put Phase 2 into play,"  
"Yes," Noonan said, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "Let us proceedl,"  
Section 31 wanted to see how well he could play these sorts of games? That was fine by him!

Another day, another sunrise.  
T'Parief had taken Yanick to the roof of an apartment block attached to the outer rim of Haven. Before them, clusters of windows reflected the stars, the buildings either uninhabited or simply darkened in the deep hours of the night. Overhead, through the clear dome covering the city, they could see the dim shape of Matria Prime's night side. Splashes of light lit the dark globe where ground-based cities slumbered.  
On the horizon, there was a steadily growing glow. The atmosphere of the planet started to take a hazy, blue colour and the shapes of the spires and towers of Haven slowly become visible. Then, as Haven's orbit brought it around the planet, the sun seemed to jump over the horizon in a brilliant blaze of light.  
Next to him, Yanick snuggled against his side.  
"OK," she smiled, "I see why you wanted to wake up so early. It's beautiful,"  
T'Parief didn't necessarily agree. To his mind, the wispy atmosphere of Matria Prime, the dome above them and finally the city of Haven itself just seemed far too fragile to be beautiful. But part of a relationship, regardless of your culture, was indulging your mate's interests from time to time.  
"It would be a good place for our child to hatch," he said calmly.  
"You think?" Yanick said, looking up at him.  
"It is the site of a great battle, and a place you find beautiful," he replied, "It has…something of each of us,"  
"Hmmm," Yanick smiled, "That's a great way to think of it. But…Pari…you know, we never really discussed…I mean, we never talked about having a baby,"  
T'Parief blinked. What? They had had sex, repeatedly. There was now an egg. End of story.  
"We didn't think it was going to be this easy," he said.  
Easy? Yanick thought to herself. I was running around fat as a cow all through TWO rescue missions!  
"Being a mom is a big thing," Yanick said, "I haven't even told my parents yet,"  
"I informed my mother," T'Parief said, surprising her, "She simply asked if I wanted the ceremonial birthing gown shipped out,"  
"Birthing gown?"  
"You wouldn't like it. Too many spikes. Aside from which, we probably won't need it for a hatching,"  
"Oh," Yanick was quiet, "So, you're really OK with this? You just, y'know, plow along like you do with everything. I don't know if you're happy, or upset, or just don't care…"  
"The birthing of spawn is an occasion to be celebrated," T'Parief replied firmly, "Think on it no further,"  
"OK," Yanick gave a small grin.  
Besides, T'Parief thought to himself, making the child was the easy part. Deciding how to raise it will prove to be…interesting. Oh yes, there were definitely going to be issues down the road.  
They sat for another moment, then T'Parief rose and helped Yanick to her feet.  
"Come, I have something else to show you,"  
They walked back to the roof access. Haven had been designed to make the best use of available space, and so most buildings had rooftop gardens, parks etc. The grass and shrubbery on that particular apartment building was still recovering from hibernation, but the glass-paneled doors leading back into the building looked good-as-new.  
They took a turbolift down to the first floor, well over twenty levels below them. They walked a few paces to a wood-paneled door, which obediently slid open for them.  
"Another apartment?" Yanick almost groaned.  
T'Parief simply led her inside.  
The suite clearly took up a good portion of the 'ground' floor of the building. Instead of the unending floor-to-ceiling windows of the other suites they'd looked at, this one had more of a mix of wall and window. Sunlight was peeking in from the fresh new day outside.  
Yanick was walking around the main living area.  
"Something's…different," she said. She paced around, then marched off down the hall to the den, the master bedroom, the recreation area and the nursery. In many ways, it wasn't any different from the other dozen or two units they'd viewed. It was larger and spread out over one level, as opposed to the compact multi-level units they'd seen. Of course, being in a wide building attached to the outer rim instead of in a tower made the single-level design more practical. Suddenly, Yanick found her attention drawn to a pattern on the wall.  
It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at. Shadows. Slowly shifting shadows as the sun shone through the trees outside the window.  
Trees?  
Running back to the living area, Yanick threw open a glass panel she'd barely noticed before and found herself not on a balcony, but standing in a grassy yard. Behind her, the building towered above and the upper lip of the solid outer rim was visible where metal met transparent dome. But in front of her the buildings were half-obscured by slowly-recovering Matrian trees. In the open gaps, she could see Downtown in the distance. They must be looking through the gap between two of the clusters of buildings that made up the Suburbs, she realized. The scent of fresh water from the lake wafted through the air as a gentle breeze blew through the trees.  
T'Parief stepped out to join her as she kicked off her shoes and let her bare toes sink into the soft grass.  
"This is exactly what the other places were missing," Yanick said, sighing contentedly, "It's perfect. We'll move in right away! Oh, Pari! Thank you!" She grabbed him and kissed him passionately.  
And thank you, Dr. Wowryk. T'Parief thought to himself.

Stafford and Jeffery were sitting in the lounge looking out at Silverado's dark form. He had to hand it to them, the Matrians Anselia had assigned to oversee their vacation were world-class. They'd apparently noticed that the Silverado officers were spending a lot of time in the unfinished lounge overlooking their ship and had called in a construction crew to finish basic construction and to help Steven move his temporary Silverado establishment out from the Atrium. They each had a plate of brunch-type food in front of them, but Stafford was just picking listless at his.  
"So, nothin' new on yer new career-advancing assignment?" Jeffery asked, just a bit of bite in his tone.  
"Nope, you?" Stafford shot back.  
"A whole ship full of people, and the only ones with assignment offers are Noel and Sylvia," Jeffery sighed.  
"About that," Stafford jumped at the opening Jeffery had given him, "What do you think about this Daystrom institute thing?"  
"Ye mean with Sylvia?" Jeffery shrugged, "Why?"  
"Well, you know her better than any of us," Stafford pointed out, "You two spent a lot of time together when Tunney had you doing your little repair tour,"  
"Aye," Jeffery looked sad for a moment, "to the USS Stallion," he said, toasting with his orange juice, "She was a piece of junk, but she saved our lives,"  
Stafford lifted his coffee in reply.  
"Have you heard from any of the Stallion officers? You knew them, after all,"  
"Aye," Jeffery said, "We had a round of pints at Queen Anselia's 'End of the Occupation' Ball. They're off helpin' the rest of the fleet,"  
"Good. But back to Sylvia," Stafford put his coffee back on the table, "Do you think she'd like it at the Daystom Institute?"  
"How the bleedin' hell would I know?" Jeffery chuckled, "Ah've never been,"  
"I guess," Stafford said, trying to figure out just how to phrase things, "I just…I wonder if maybe she's turning down this offer before she's had a chance to consider the benefits,"  
"Not thinkin' somethin' through?" Jeffery raised an eyebrow and poked his eggs a la Kroxnik, "that doesn't sound like Sylvia to me,"  
"I know," Stafford said, "But, I mean, what if there were ways that…other people…could benefit from that?"  
Jeffery looked up.  
"Ye know somethin' Ah don't," he accused, "Ye've got the same look ye did when Cynthia Folsen was cheaten' on me, back on the Exeter,"  
"Cynthia Folsen is ancient history," Stafford tried to distract Jeffery.  
"Ye were the one she was cheaten on me with!"  
"Well, technically, you could say she was cheating on ME with YOU," Stafford shrugged. Ahh, crises averted.  
"Ye can't distract me that easy," Jeffery said, "What are ye hidin'?"  
Or maybe not. OK, fine. Time to come clean.  
"Some of Noonan's shady new connections have offered to give me command of a new ship if I convince Sylvia to take the assignment," Stafford said, pulling out the padd Noonan had given him, "Along with letting me bring anybody I want from Silverado,"  
Jeffery didn't even look at the padd.  
"Don't do it," he said immediately, "It's shady, it's suspicious, and nothin' done like that EVER turns out good,"  
"But…Simon…look at the ship!"  
Jeffery continuted to ignore the padd.  
"Ye do this for them, then five years down the road they're gonna come askin' for another favour," he said, "And they'll have yer precious career by the short hairs if ye play their game,"  
Stafford grunted.  
"I know," he said, "But you can't tell me that keeping our team together isn't worth a bit of risk,"  
"Not this kind," Jeffery said.  
"Even if it would keep you close to Noel?" Stafford added, "You know she's not going to take the Haven assignment. She hated leading the Rebellion. She wants to go back to being a doctor,"  
Jeffery glared at him, then snatched the padd. His jaw dropped.  
"Vimy-class?" his jaw dropped, "They almost used them as a test-bed for the Quantum Slipstream Drive prototype! Ah mean, it turned out the drive wasn't even close to ready for a ship that size, but," he scrolled through the padd, "Ohhh, they left the mounting points and power conduits in for future developments!"  
Jeffery suddenly slammed the padd back down on the table.  
"Nay," he said, "Don't even look at it. Throw it away, Chris, and pretend it never happened.  
"Captain Stafford, Lt. Commander Jeffery," a voice cut in. It was Valtaic.  
"Riven," Stafford said, calmly putting away the padd and gesturing at an empty seat, "We could use a little distraction,"  
"Then I am able to accommodate," the dark-skinned officer said, taking a seat and setting several padds down on the table, "Our new assignments have come through from Starfleet Command. I've already notified the others; they will be joining us shortly."  
"Let's wait, then," Stafford said before Jeffery could fish his padd out of the pile, "We'll see what the future holds together, shall we?"

It wasn't long before the rest of the senior staff, plus Sylvia had arrived. It was barely lunch time, but Steven had produced a round of drinks anyway.  
"To the future," Stafford said, raising his glass. Uneasily, the rest followed suit.  
"All right," Jall shrugged, "time to open our Christmas presents, huh?"  
"Yup," Yanick said, looking at the pile of padds, "Time to take the plunge."  
They all continued staring at the pile.  
"Oh, fine," Wowryk grabbed hers from the stack. She wouldn't say it to the others, but she really wanted to know what alternative Starfleet was offering to the Haven thing, "Where am I going? Stafleet Medical? Or some backwater to pull splinters out of somebody's finger?"  
She turned on the padd, the rest watching eagerly. Her eyebrows rose for a moment, then her face fell.  
"What is it?" Yanick demanded, "Is it the splinters? Or maybe ingrown toenails?"  
Wowryk didn't say anything, only tossed her padd in Stafford's direction with a look of disgust.  
Stafford gingerly picked it up.  
"Commanding officer, Starbase 341: Haven," he read, "Ohhh,"  
"I don't want it," Wowryk said flatly, "I've thought about it, I know it's a good career move…and maybe one day I'll go in that direction. But I'm not ready for command. This whole Rebellion thing…it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But I'm not ready to do something like that again,"  
T'Parief pulled his padd out of the pile.  
"Executive officer of the New Zealand Penel Colony," he read. There was a rattle in his throat. No combat. No Hazardous Team. No glorious slaughter of the enemy. Just a recovery paradise for what passed for criminals in the Federation.  
Yanick's turn.  
"Traffic control, Starbase 213," she said, "But that's over fifty light years from Earth! They can't do that, Pari and I are having a baby!"  
"You're not married," Wowryk said, "And if you didn't register with Starfleet as common-law, they don't have to post you together,"  
"But we can appeal this, right? " Yanick demanded, "I mean, hello? Baby!"  
"You can," Stafford said, "But by the time you got everything cleared up…it could take a year,"  
"Or more, if somebody wants to tangle the red tape," Jall added. He would know, his demotion appeal had been purposefully sabotaged for four years. He pulled out his own padd.  
"First officer, Deep Space 12," he read.  
"That doesn't sound so bad," Stafford said.  
"Except that this is the fourth Deep Space 12 they've built," Jall said, reading from the padd, "Some hostile race called the Lasmi blew up the first three,"  
"Rough deal,"  
"Ah'm overseein' Silverado's deconstruction," Jeffery said glumly.  
"Pacifica," Valtaic said, looking displeased.  
"Ohh, great beaches," Yanick said.  
"For an alien who generates as much energy as Valtaic, a water planet is not a pleasant posting," Fifebee pointed out, "Incidentally, I have been assigned to a dead-end posting on the science colony of Starung IV,"  
Taking a deep breath, Stafford took the last padd on the table.  
"Captain of the USS Weir," he said glumly, "Oberth-class science ship. Obsolete, and what the hell do I know about science anyway!?"  
They sat around the table in silence for a moment.  
"Well," Sylvia said, trying to be cheerful, "At least now you know where you'll be going and can start making plans, right? I mean, it can't be that bad,"  
Stafford started to open his mouth.  
"Shut it, Chris," Jeffery said warningly.  
"Jeffery, I have to at least say something," he said.  
"You mean," Jall started, a look of realization on his face, "Ohhh, you told the engineer."  
"Told him what?" Yanick asked, "And, more importantly, why didn't you tell me?"  
"I'll tell all of you," Stafford said, closing his eyes for a moment. "I think somebody screwed us over with bad assignments on purpose,"  
There was the predictable chaos at the table. Questions, objections, accusations. Etc. You get the picture.  
"How do you know this?" Fifebee asked.  
"Because right after we got the decommissioning orders, Noonan told me that the same people who arranged for the Medusa to lead the fleet out here to kick Qu'Eh butt could arrange for all of us to get a new ship," Stafford said.  
"This sounds unsavoury," Valtaic said.  
"It is!" Jeffery said loudly, "Totally!"  
"Why?" Sylvia asked.  
"Because," Stafford said tiredly, "in return, they want me to convince you to take the assignment to the Daystrom Institute,"  
There was silence around the table. Sylvia looked thoughtful.  
"So if I go to the Daystrom Institute for study, you will all be assigned to a new, top-of-the-line ship?" she asked.  
"Well, myself and anybody I want to take with me," Stafford started, glancing in Jall's direction only to have Yanick kick him under the able. "Er, yes. All of us."  
"I see," Sylvia stood and started walked to the door.  
"WHOAH! Where do ye think yer goin'?" Jeffery demanded.  
"To accept the assignment," Sylvia said, "Where else?"  
"No, ye can't,"" Jeffery said firmly.  
"I agree," Stafford said, "We can't ask you to do this,"  
"You didn't," Sylvia said.  
"He didn't ask," Wowryk said, giving Stafford a dark look, "But he did manipulate you into a position where you would feel obligated to offer,"  
"Well, that wasn't exactly my plan," Stafford cleared his throat.  
"How could you do that?" Yanick demanded, "That's….that's…"  
"Really not on!" Jall finished, "And Sylvia, no. I'm not going to any fancy ship if I have to think about you stuck in some lab!"  
"As opposed to what, San?" Sylvia asked, "An assignment to a space station with a 75% chance of being destroyed?"  
"We're being played," Stafford said, "Decommissioning Silverado, dangling this new ship in front of me, giving us all awful assignments. Once again, we're stuck right in the middle of somebody else's game!"  
Yes, but they're not the only ones that know how to play games.  
"Who said that?" Stafford demanded.  
"I said," T'Parief broke in calmly, "I will not be manipulated. I will resign my commission and join Yanick, so that we may raise our spawn together."  
"Then I quit too!" Yanick said, "The Matrians will let us stay here, right?"  
"If they won't," Wowryk said firmly, "I will, seeing as how it seems I will have command of this infernal place thrust upon me,"  
"T'Parief found us the perfect apartment," Yanick said smiling sadly, "With trees, and bunnies...well, no bunnies. But there's so much grass, I could probably have bunnies."  
"You guys can't throw away your careers over this," Sylvia said, "I'm so glad you're making this commitment to be good parents, but if I go to the Daystrom Institute, you can raise the baby together on the…what's the ship called, Chris?"  
"Hmm?" Stafford looked up. He was still trying to figure out where that voice had come from. It had almost sounded like Noonan's. Was his former first officer trying to tell him something? "The USS Vimy Ridge,"  
"Vimy Ridge? Never heard of it," Jall said.  
"Vimy Ridge was the site of a major battle in Earth's first World War," Fifebee recited, "It was an allied victory, and is notable as being the first battle in which the four distinct units of the Canadian Expeditionary Force fought together as a cohesive whole. Many historians consider it a defining moment in Canada's growth as a nation,"  
"That's great," Jall said in a clear 'I-don't-care' tone, "But I still don't give a shit about this whole 'Needs of the many, needs of the one' situation."  
"He's right, Sylvia," Stafford sighed, "It's too risky. Look at the games they're playing to get you there. They want you fairly badly. Who knows what kind of tricks they'd pull to keep you there once they've got their hands on you?"  
"Or make ye disappear," Jeffery said darkly.  
Slowly, reluctantly, Sylvia sat back down.  
"So," Jall said after a moment, "Where does this leave us?  
"Up several different shit creeks," Stafford grumbled, "And nobody has a paddle."  
There was a commotion at the door as several members of Matrian security rushed in, each of them armed and wearing body armour.  
"Oh really," a familiar voice called, "We're in the city of Haven…what kind of threat could their possibly be!"  
"Just a precaution, your Highnesses," one of the guards said.  
Stafford and his crew rose as Queen Anselia and King Hektor walked into the lounge.  
"May we interrupt?" Anselia asked.  
"Your Majesty," Stafford said, "We weren't expecting you up here,"  
"Chris, just because we haven't been sleeping together anymore doesn't mean you have to go back to being so formal!" Anselia teased.  
Stafford smiled sadly. He hadn't been surprised when his relationship with Anselia had petered out. After all, she had a planet to get back into order.  
King Hektor was taking in the glum expressions around him, then looked over at the discarded message padds still on the table.  
"Bad news?" he inquired politely.  
"You could say that," Stafford sighed.  
"We got screwed," Jall said bluntly.  
"Your new assignments?" Hektor asked.  
"Yeah,"  
Anselia and Hektor exchanged a look.  
"I had," Anselia said, "the strangest experience last night…"

Aboard the USS Banshee, Commander Noonan was riding the turbolift to the bridge when he felt the ship accelerate into warp. As the doors hissed open, he stepped towards Captain Vorezze's chair.  
"Are we leaving already?" he asked.  
"Section 31 just put a kibosh on the whole deal," Vorezze said, his arms crossed, "You know anything about that?"  
"I've been in my quarters all night," Noonan said innocently.  
"I know. We already checked the security footage,"  
"And the communications logs," Captain Velorn cut in.  
"What happened?" Noonan asked.  
"It seems that the Matrians are already starting to play in the Federation political games," Velorn said, sounding as annoyed as a Vulcan can, "And, unfortunately, they're goals seem to clash somewhat with ours,"  
"How unfortunate," Noonan said. Now, for one of the first times since starting this assignment with the Banshee crew, he reached out with the full power of his mind, "But I assure you, I had nothing to do with it. I put my best efforts into convincing Captain Stafford that sending Sylvia to the Daystom Institute was the proper choice,"  
"Oh we don't dispute that one bit," Vorezze said, looking slightly dazed.  
"Indeed," Velorn agreed, "In fact, your initial performance assessment will be quite favourable."  
"Thank you," Noonan said, turning to leave the bridge.  
Section 31 thought they were the masters of the dark arts? HAH!  
Working 'for' them was going to be very, very interesting.

The night before…

Queen Anselia had finally retired to her chambers after a very, very hectic day. The Historical Committee was calling for the tunnels under Matronus that had been used as a rebel base to be preserved for posterity. And they were still squabbling over whether or not to open the Haven launch base for scientific study. The first-stage antigravity structure that had pushed the city out of the sand was still sitting in the crater, along with the energy beam that had powered Haven's engines for the ascent. The technology was unlike any other Old Matrian technology they'd found. And, of course, the Cultural Committee had given a long, boring report on the latest finds from the team studying the tribe of 'primitive' Matrians that had been found living on an equatorial island.  
All in all, getting her planet back into order was turning into a ridiculous amount of work. But at least the Silverado officers, the Senousians and those Matrians that had done the bulk of the fighting were getting some much-deserved down time.  
And now it was her turn. Anselia collapsed on the bed, ready to fall into a deep sleep. She relaxed her body completely and closed her eyes.  
And, suddenly, found herself rising from bed, eyes opening. She wasn't doing it, of that she was certain. Her limbs were simply moving themselves, as though she was a puppet being controlled by a series of strings.  
Her puppet-master walked her over to her data console, where she sat down and accessed the link-up to the Federation data net. Her hands danced over the panel of their own volition, pulling up Starfleet message traffic. On her screen, she saw the assignments that were being offered to the men and women that had worked so hard to save her planet.  
They were abysmal.  
The ship was being scrapped, the crew scattered.  
Of course, she didn't know the Silverado crewmembers that well, other than Stafford. How was she to know what they'd want?  
Her fingers danced again, pulling up her messaging system, then composing a communication to the Federation Council. Before the 'send' button could be pressed, however, a voice rang out in her head.  
What happens next is up to you. it said.  
And suddenly, her body was her own again.  
Anselia stared at the screen for a moment, re-reading the message, then hit 'Send'.

"It was very disturbing," she said to the gathered Silverado crew, "And yet, I felt no hint of malice or threat,"  
"I wouldn't worry about it," Stafford said, "I…well, let's just say I have a fairly good idea who it was. He's a good guy,"  
"Yes, I had that sense," Anselia said, "In any event, it…he…seemed eager to show me that, as the leader of a member world, I seem to have a strong influence over events in my local territory. But I will force nothing on you."  
She snapped her fingers. A council page stepped forward, then gently placed a padd on the table in front of Stafford.  
"Accept, or decline. It is your choice entirely," Anselia said, "Now, I have much business to attend to. But please, let me again thank you for everything you've done here,"  
With that, Anselia, Hektor and their escort left, leaving the Silverado staff back where they started.  
Except for one more padd.  
Everybody stared.  
"Well pick it up already!" Wowryk snapped, causing everybody to jump.  
Stafford gingerly picked up the padd and started reading. The other staff could only catch a few words.  
"Pending your approval…Haven shipyard…offer of…"  
He smiled.  
"Well?" Jall demanded.  
"Do you remember how part of the Federation membership agreement with the Matrians included Federation shipbuilding?"  
"Yes…"  
"Well," Stafford swallowed, "The Matrians have decided that the best way to learn about Federation shipbuilding is to tear apart and rebuild an existing space-frame,"  
He held his thumb over the 'Approval' icon on the padd.  
"And it just so happens we have a ship that would benefit from a complete rebuild," he looked out the window at the USS Silverado, "And a crew to take her out once they're finished with her,"  
"So," he said, looking back at his crew, "the only question is, would anybody be interested in taking the old girl out for another spin?"

End

And thus concludes Silverado Season V, the Matrian Uprising arc, the Qu'Eh invasion, and so much more that ate up roughly three years of my life, back from mid-Season 4 in 2007 to the posting of the Season 5 finale in 2010. As of 21 May 2013 when this story was posted, there is no new Silverado planned in the near-term. Eventually I do want to come back to these characters, but this season has wrapped things up for them nicely for the time being.

However, the story of Haven continues in Star Traks: Halfway to Haven! The first 18-story season posted in 2012...or was it 2011? I forget. In any event, I shall upload it here at some point, assuming anybody is reading this stuff. There are also two Star Traks: Howlers stories posted here, as well as the Star Traks: Crash Course miniseries about Starfleet Academy.

Feedback is welcome!


End file.
